


Breathing Smoke

by KindreTurnany



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Conception of Child Through Rape, Fairies, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Bodily Autonomy, M/M, Necromancy, Original Character Death(s), Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Unicorns, werespiders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-26 14:15:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 27
Words: 109,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KindreTurnany/pseuds/KindreTurnany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles closed his eyes, breathing in and out with careful slowness. He wasn’t crying. He couldn’t let himself cry. He couldn’t let anyone see. No one could see, he remembered. This didn’t come with scars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Stone Woman

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Violence, language, rape, death, suicide, self harm. Portions of this story could be triggering.
> 
> [Sasha](http://sashayingunderthesun.tumblr.com/) and [Nicole](http://carlathezombie.tumblr.com/) are both betaing this fic for me. They are fantastic and put up with my pestering admirably on top of making this story way better than I could on my own. Anything that sucks is probably a place where I chose not to listen to them. :P

Derek was warm. He was also irritable and scratchy. Stiles scratched an itch on his nose with Derek's stubble and tried again to wriggle out of the web holding them together. It was thick, sticky, and wrapped tightly around the two of them as they hung upside-down from the cave roof. Stiles bent his neck in what should have been looking up to find the floor. He had a splitting headache already, and Derek kept snapping his teeth because it was all he had to threaten Stiles with anymore.

"Anything?" Stiles asked.

"In the last three seconds? No. My claws slide right off." Derek growled. He struggled again, trying to jerk free or get his claws to cut the web.

"Dude, we already know that doesn't work," Stiles pointed out.

"Shut up so I can get us out and back up to the surface."

"Sure thing, but if you keep moving like that, us to the surface won't be the only thing getting up." Stiles wished, not for the first time, that they'd been bound back-to-back. Or separately. Separately would have been wonderful.

Derek froze, and Stiles wasn't sure he planned to ever move again. At least the room spun a little slower when they hung still.

"So..." Stiles made a popping sound with his mouth.

"I think it's coming back." Derek's voice dropped to a whisper. "If it takes us down, run. I'll have a better chance fighting it if I don't have to defend us both."

"Dude, I'm not just leaving you—"

"I said run." Derek glared into Stiles' eyes. Directly into Stiles' eyes since they couldn't pull their faces far enough apart not to study each others' irises. Derek's were green apparently, with little flecks of gold and brown nearer the pupils.

Stiles nodded and wound up bumping his forehead against Derek's. He felt Derek's muscles tense as the werespider—honestly, werespiders, where did these things even keep coming from?—approached. Stiles heard it then, the scuttle and scrape of its legs against stone. He squeezed his eyes shut, taking deep breaths against Derek's cheek. When he opened his eyes, they focused first on the curve of Derek's ear and then on the giant man-spider behind him.

"Oh shit." Stiles flinched, but the only space he had to move was to bury his face against Derek's neck.

"Stiles." Derek's throat moved against Stiles lips as he spoke. When Stiles flinched back from that too, the only place to go was back to looking at the werespider. It had a human-like torso but hunched forward so the legs growing from its sides could reach the floor. It had eight eyes over a stretched face and long fangs reaching past its lips. Stiles tried to remind himself it was actually a _she_ and a classmate of his too, but... it was a giant freaking spider. There was only so much he could do, even knowing she had never asked to be a monster. "Remember. Run." Derek whispered into Stiles' ear. His breath was hot and uneven.

"I'll bring help," Stiles whispered back. He kept his eyes on the werespider like staring hard enough could make it disappear. Instead, it moved forward, scuttle-shuffling across the cave floor.

"You should have stayed out of my way," it hissed in an off-center echo of a human voice.

"Have you met me?" Stiles rolled his eyes. "In the way is my only setting. If there is a way that belongs to someone else, I am bound to be in it. It's the best way to find me actually, by finding ways I shouldn't be in."

The spider hissed. Stiles tried to remind himself its name was Cassie Halbardier. They had English together. He couldn't find a way to superimpose Cassie's sly little smile over the monster's fanged snarl though. The werespider advanced, drawing up its arms or forelegs or whatever toward the rope of webbing holding Stiles and Derek to the ceiling.

"I was going to let you live," Cassie said as she began sawing through her own web. "You weren't part of it. You were innocent." Then her eyes flashed, except the bottom left one, which Stiles was pretty sure had gone blind after he threw bleach in it. "But you had to side with _them._ I thought you were nice, but you're just a monster too." Technically, the pack had only agreed to help the creeps who turned Cassie into the man-spider (lady-spider?) to get her under control and save her from what had been done to her. Stiles might have had better luck explaining that before he partially blinded her.

"Says the giant spider beast," Stiles pointed out just before the web broke and dropped him to the floor. He managed to land more on his shoulders than his head, but the pain still nearly stopped Stiles from rolling to a crouch. His head swam as he righted himself after being upside-down for so long.

"I didn't have a choice," Cassie shrieked. "They made me this... this thing." She clawed at her chest as if she could rip the spider away to reveal the teenage girl beneath.

"Well, you didn't have to start hurting people." Stiles thought better of it only after the words were out.

The spider advanced, screaming, but Derek tackled it. "Go!" He shouted at Stiles as he held the werespider at bay.

Stiles nodded to no one as he stumbled to his feet only to fall right back to the ground when his right foot decided to step to the left of the other foot instead of where he told it to. He spun going down but managed to get his mouth pointed down before he puked up his Cheerios. Until the cave stopped spinning, Stiles scrambled away on hands and knees. He finally found his feet again and started running until he smacked into the wall beside the opening he'd been aiming for.

"Come on!" He complained, throwing his hands in the air. He glanced back to find Derek driving the spider away from Stiles and the tunnel he couldn't quite get through. Since they'd gotten caught _because of Stiles_ the last time, Derek would probably be fine. Stiles used the cave wall to steady himself as he stood and moved down the tunnel at a pace less likely to end with him on the ground or vomiting again.

Webs, both large and small, lined the cave walls. Spiders—regular spiders, not werespiders—crawled underfoot and overhead, and Stiles wished suddenly that they weren't drawn in such vast numbers to the nest of a werespider. They had arrived quickly too. Cassie had only been turned a week and a half ago, if Stiles believed the creeps who did the turning. He wasn't sure he did. They claimed it had been a mistake, that they hadn't understood the dangers, but Stiles got the feeling they just hadn't expected Cassie to escape. Scott thought he was being paranoid, so Stiles had kept his worries mostly to himself. Sort of. Well, he only complained about it when the creeps weren't actually around. A spider fell from the ceiling onto Stiles shoulder. He yelped, swatting at it until it fell off.

"Need to get a friggin exterminator in here," he muttered, trudging through the narrowing cave. If it got much narrower, Stiles was going to turn around and take his chances with Cassie because the spiders were getting a bit ridiculous, and the tunnel was getting almost too dark to see them. He noticed a large spider by the floor eating another, smaller spider. "Dude," he told it as he stepped past, "Cannibalism." But he doubted there were enough insects to go around with this many spiders, so it made sense in a freaky, let's-not-think-about-this-overmuch kind of way.

The spider webs just ahead glittered with reflections of a faint light. The tunnel narrowed again, and Stiles stopped. He would have to crawl to get through, or he could turn around and hope Cassie the werespider didn't eat him. Stiles glanced behind him, then turned back to the small opening. It was too small for Cassie with her extra limbs. She couldn't reach him through there, unless she had learned how to change back to her human form. Stiles bit his lip. Cassie had come this way, he was sure of it, but Stiles hadn't noticed any branching off of tunnels. This was the only way she could have gone.

A shuffle and a scrape came from behind him. It was distant, but there was no other way to go. Stiles took a deep breath and lowered himself to the floor. Spiders crawled up his arms and legs as he crawled himself. One reached his neck, and he jerked a hand up to slap at it, but there were spiders on the hand too. Stiles whined but kept moving forward.

_Why couldn't she have been a werebunny?_ Stiles thought as a spider crawled up the side of his face. _Or a werepenguin? A wereferret?_

Stiles reached the end of the small passage to find a larger cavern and tumbled out to find a foot long drop between him and the floor. He rolled around where he fell, swatting spiders off him. He slapped a few off his face with a yelp and shook more out of his shirt. When he was mostly free of spiders—though Stiles wasn't sure the crawly feeling on his skin would ever fade—he stood and studied the cavern around him.

It had light, but the only exit was the tunnel Stiles had just crawled through. A pool of water at the caverns center gave off the glow Stiles had followed. The water was still. If it seemed to grow in his eyes, that was because Stiles moved toward it, not because shallow pools could slide across the ground or make the walls of a cavern shrink in until he had no place to go. Just before he stepped into the water, Stiles realized it was much deeper than he had thought. He knelt on the rock and dirt floor to peer through the still water. There was something under the surface—a statue. It had the shape of a woman in flowing robes, one hand upraised as if reaching for Stiles. Her face looked upward past her outstretched hand, eyes wide, lips parted. Her model had been gorgeous and her sculptor masterful. Stiles admired the curls of her hair and the way hard stone looked soft as flesh and delicate as wet linen. He reached a hand forward to the surface of the water. If he lay on his stomach, he might be able to reach her hand.

The water was cold. Ripples spread across the surface from where his finger touched, and the light of the cavern rippled and dimmed. Stiles inched his hand forward until the water passed his wrist, his elbow, and his shoulder. He stretched forward, turning his head sideways to keep his mouth and nose free of the water that now brushed his ear. His fingers brushed against something hard and smooth. Stiles shifted again, sliding the side of his face into the water so he could take hold of the stone fingers. They were warm.

A hand closed around his. Stiles screamed. He tried to jerk away, but the hand held him tight and pulled him down into the water. Stiles thrashed beneath the water, fighting the hold of the statue. From here, he could see the light had come not from the water, but from _her._ She brought him down to stare into his wide eyes. She blinked stone eyelids and smiled with stone lips. Stiles brought his free hand between them to push away from her face, but the statue pushed it away and brought him closer. She pressed warm, hard lips to his and held him tight as Stiles struggled to pull away.

Her lips grew soft, and her flesh began to give beneath Stiles' hand and feet as he pushed at her. He fought harder than before, feeling the strain on his throat and chest as his body ran out of air. Pain formed behind the strain, and Stiles had an instant to wonder how his drowning would compare to Matt Daehler's before he stopped thinking and focused only on finding a way to stop the pain. Stiles pulled his hand free of the statue's and clawed with his stubby nails at her face and arms. He kicked at her legs. He bit at her lips. His lungs burned with their emptiness, and his head felt ready to explode.

The statue opened her mouth to cover Stiles' lips with hers. She breathed, and air flowed into him. Stiles drank it in even as he struggled to get away from her. The water line passed over his skin from top to bottom, and the chill of air against wet skin followed. The statue—though she wasn't a statue at all now; she was a woman as gorgeous as he'd imagined she would be—let Stiles go, and he dropped into a shallow pool of water that reached only halfway up his forearms.

"What?" He looked around and found himself in a cavern, but not the cavern he'd crawled into past the spiders. He could see tunnels running into darkness, and another that he recognized as the exit to the system of caves he and Derek had followed Cassie through. "How?" He coughed, and banged a fist against his chest. It didn't help.

"Oh, are you okay? I am so sorry." The woman knelt beside him, her blue eyes wide with what looked remarkably like concern. Her dark skin made them seem impossibly bright. Or maybe they _were_ impossibly bright. Stiles doubted very much that she was human. "I forgot for a moment that humans can't breathe underwater. I wasn't too late, was I?" She reached a hand forward, but Stiles flinched away.

He scrambled back until his back hit the wall. "Explain. Quickly," he demanded, using the wall to help support him as he stood. "Or I'll get my wolf friends to rip you apart so when you're a statue again, you stay in the bottom of your freaky puddle."

She clasped her hands together. "Oh, you speak with wolves? That's so lovely." She smiled. "I am Thera. I chose the lake as penance for..." She turned her eyes downward and brought a hand to cover her heart. "Oh it was terrible." She shook her head. "I didn't know. I swear I didn't know, but... I sang the tune of life where a human could hear. He..." She shuddered. "He used an enchanted flute to play it in graveyards and raise the dead. Oh, it was ghastly." She sobbed softly as tears began to fall down her cheeks.

"Come on," Stiles raised a hand, though he thought it might be more to ward her off than to reach toward her. "Don't cry. I'm the one who almost drowned, not you."

"Oh, but what if you had _died?"_ She rushed forward to grip Stiles in a hug, smashing his face into her breasts. "You poor thing, you're soaked through." Thera pulled back to look him over. She patted her hands against his chest as if to wipe him off, and the water poured off Stiles to form a puddle at his feet.

"I'm fine. I think."

"You may be weak after reviving me." She clung to his arm. "We should get you home to rest."

"Whoa." Stiles pulled away from her, edging along the cave wall toward the exit. "What's this 'we'? I still don't know who or what you are, much less if I want you anywhere near my home."

"I told you I am Thera." She smiled. "I am fae, and I wish you no ill. May I ask your name?"

"No, you may not. I—fae like fairies?" He continued to move along the wall.

"Yes," she tittered, "Fae like fairies."

Stiles nodded to himself and turned to run out of the cave. He continued running until he slammed into something warm and fell back to the ground. "Oh, thank God," he breathed when he saw Derek glaring down at him. "Dude, I accidentally woke up a super hot fairy lady."

Derek scowled at him for a moment before nodding his head to where Thera stood to Stiles' side. "I noticed." He crossed his arms and stared at them both. Stiles sensed more than a little judging in the downward pull of Derek's eyebrows and the contemptuous tilt of his head.


	2. Spark

"You expect me to help you why, again?" Jackson raised his eyebrows at Scott, waiting for an answer. They stood in Jackson's living room because he wouldn't let them sit on his parents' couches or move further into the house. Jackson leaned against the doorframe like he hesitated to stand in the same room as the rest of them. If Stiles thought anyone would have appreciated it, he'd have posed with a single finger centimeters from the couch. Derek and Jackson didn't have half a sense of humor between them though, and Scott was too focused on a mix of saving everyone and winning Allison back to notice Stiles' jokes.

"You're in just as much danger as the rest of us if we don't stop her." Scott stepped forward, but Derek pulled him back with a hand on his shoulder. Scott shrugged him off but stayed where he was. Stiles rolled his eyes because they could have done without all the posturing.

"By 'her' you mean the quiet redhead from school who always wears the bows." Jackson's expression made it clear just how much of a threat he thought Cassie Halbardier wasn't.

"She doesn't wear bows anymore," Scott said like that had been the most important part of Jackson's comment.

"Also she's grown a few extra eyes and legs," Stiles added. "And venomous fangs." He used his fingers to mime fangs and shifted his eyes in turn to Jackson, Scott, and Derek, willing someone there to just grow a negotiation skill set to make this work out. Maybe they should have invited Isaac or Allison. But Isaac was busy keeping Peter from killing Cassie while Scott struggled to save her, and Allison refused to go near Derek who refused to let Scott take charge of anything he deemed important.

"She sounds very dangerous," Thera said, and Stiles yelped himself right down to the floor because she hadn't been there a moment before. "Sorry." She pulled Stiles to his feet, and the pain in his backside faded at her touch.

He jerked out of her reach. "You can't just do that." He held up his hands, motioning for her to stay away.

"I don't understand your disbelief given that I just did it. I could demonstrate again if you like." She disappeared only to reappear on Stiles' other side.

"No, I don't like," Stiles grumbled as Thera flickered in and out a few more times even though he'd at least half been saying she couldn't just _magic_ him without permission.

"Okay, what the hell is that?" Jackson pointed to Thera but had to move his hand when she shifted to the other side of the room.

"Fae," Derek grunted.

Jackson's expression could only be described as, 'bitch please.' He said, "You expect me to believe fairies are real?"

"Dude," Scott pointed out. "You'rea freaking werewolf."

"And?"

Scott floundered.

"I think Scott was pointing out the irony of a thing that doesn't exist not believing in another thing that doesn't exist." Stiles pointed at Jackson and a spot Thera used to be standing in as he spoke. "And Thera, you can stop now. I get it. You can teleport."

She appeared smiling beside Stiles. "This one is another of your wolves?" Thera asked, stepping toward Jackson. "He is very handsome, Stiles. You have such lovely friends."

"We're not really friends." Stiles dropped himself onto one of the Whittemore's plush armchairs even though Jackson had already told him not to touch anything. Twice.

"Oh but you should be. Just look at his beautiful eyes!" She stepped close to study Jackson's eyes as she spoke, and Jackson made a point of staring her down rather than backing up.

"I don't think his eyes have anything to do with whether or not we should be friends. To be honest, I'm a little put off by his personality."

Scott inched closer to Stiles to whisper, "I don't think you're helping."

"That's silly," Thera said, "Eyes are the window to the soul. They are the clearest indication of whether you should be friends."

"Why did you bring a fairy into my house?" Jackson kept his eyes on Thera as he spoke.

"I didn't. She's stalking me." Stiles scowled at her.

"Then have _her_ help you catch the spider and leave me alone." Jackson crossed his arms, finally looking away from Thera to focus his gaze on Stiles.

"We need numbers," Derek said. "To keep the spider under control without any of us being in too much danger." He glared at Scott as he spoke, probably because Derek still thought they should just kill Cassie.

"And how exactly do you plan to turn her back once you've got her under control?" Jackson crossed his arms. He clearly already knew they didn't have a plan.

"We're still working on that," Scott admitted.

"Why is she a spider?" Thera asked as she studied the Whittemore's light fixtures. "The rest of you are wolves. Why isn't she?"

"We didn't turn her," Scott said.

"Scott, don't answer the fae," Derek growled.

"Who turned her then? Another spider?" Thera found the light switch and flicked it up and down a few times, grinning widely.

"She's the only spider." Scott watched the lights flicker on and off. "What are you doing?"

Thera giggled. "We didn't have these last time I was awake. They are great fun."

Jackson leapt across the sitting room to grab Thera by the wrist. "They're not meant to be _fun,_ so leave them alone."

"Sorry," she said. "I won't do it again." But she winked at Stiles and flicked it one last time before teleporting across the room.

Jackson growled, eyes flashing bright blue.

"Hey, we could use some of that too," Stiles said. "I think the creeps know something that could help Cassie, but they keep denying it."

"What do you mean?" Thera asked.

"Well, they're the ones who made her into a person-sized spider, and you'd think that would give them some insight into things like making her _not_ a person-sized spider, especially since that's one of their main goals anyway."

"I said don't answer the fae." Derek frowned, as though he hadn't been all along.

"You mean..." Thera paused, setting a finger to her lips. "She's an artificial therianthrope? I didn't realize that was possible."

"Neither did we." Stiles shrugged.

"Do kids not learn about the fae anymore?" Derek grumbled.

"No, why would we?" Scott asked, bringing Derek up short.

"Oh. The Fae trick people. Talking to them is a bad idea." Derek nodded like that explained everything.

"He's not very good at stories, is he?" Thera asked. "I've only heard a few myself, but they're generally longer and end with something very bad happening or a moral message."

Derek scowled at her.

"Okay, everybody out before the place permanently smells like you." Jackson said, clearly done with the lot of them.

"But we need—" Scott began, but Jackson cut him off.

"And when you have a proper plan, come back and I'll even pretend to listen. But for now, get out of my house." Jackson shoved Scott personally through the front door, and the others followed, except for Thera who teleported onto the front lawn. Stiles joined Derek in scowling at her while Scott moped.

**~.x.~**

Scott crossed his arms in unconscious imitation of Derek. Stiles guessed it made sense given that he was trying to be intimidating, and Derek was (once upon a time) the most intimidating person they knew. Stiles hoped it would be enough to get the creeps to fess up. He _knew_ something was off. They claimed to have ruined Cassie accidentally and said they wanted the pack's help to save her, but Stiles' nose itched with all the parts the creeps left out.

"My friend thinks you're hiding something from us." Scott put exactly the same emphasis on 'my friend' as leading man Halder Sherman in _Death Intimidation 3_. Stiles would be more impressed with the reproduction if DI3's acting hadn't been even stiffer than its writing. The car chase was well done considering the budget though, and the makeup artist _needed_ to be working on big-budget films with the job she'd done on Sherman in that final scene when they had to make his face melt off even though they'd used up their entire special effects budget already.

Mina's laugh startled Stiles out of his bad action movie musings _._ She ran a hand through her silky black hair and settled the other on her denim-clad hip. "You know that line is supposed to reference a _scary_ friend, someone more intimidating physically than the speaker. It's supposed to be a threat." She directed a smirk at Stiles. "He's kind of the opposite of all that."

So far as Stiles could tell, Mina was the creeps' leader. She handled most of the talking and shut down both her brother Chase Mortimer and their mad scientist Jenneva Cole if either started to talk too much. Chase was more of a stand in the background and judge everyone silently sort of guy anyway. Stiles guessed he'd spent most of his life deferring to his sister. Even his clothes looked like Mina had picked them to compliment hers: demin, cotton, and leather, black on black on faded black.

Jenneva was more of a colored skinny jeans and trendy jackets type. Everything about her set her apart from the Mortimers. Her bright clothes to their dark, her thirty years to their twenty-somethings, her Hispanic features to their Asian ones, her glasses and notebook to their shades and weapons. Even the way she held her hands in front of her almost protectively instead of away from her body in a show of confidence or a threat was different. Stiles hadn't quite figured out why she didn't fit in except for not being part of their family. There was something else in the way Mina and Chase stood like a team while Jenneva just hovered nearby.

Scott feigned shock at Mina's scorn. "Stiles is scary. Derek, tell them Stiles is scary."

Derek sent Stiles a smirk far too much like Mina's. "Oh, yeah, scary. He once nearly talked my ear off." Derek rubbed his ear as if reliving the memory.

Erica leaned back a moment, studying Derek's face. "Should've let him. You could do with a battle scar or two." She nodded as though thinking to herself. "And maybe a piercing."

Mina scratched at the side of her neck. "I'm sure this is meant to confuse me, but you all are terrible actors."

Stiles sighed. He had hoped the stalling would last longer. He squatted down to press a hand against the floor, hoping this worked. He'd been studying magic with Deaton, but so far, his attempts went about fifty-fifty, with one fifty being failure that blew up in his face and the other barely-managed success that still blew up in his face more often than not. Deaton couldn't seem to tell him why except that he needed to practice and believe. Stiles focused on the slight dampness to the floor beneath his fingers, and willed a spark to catch it. A match would have worked just as well, but he needed the creeps to see him as powerful to make the others look even stronger. He needed to be the scary friend. Stiles summoned all the rage he could and focused it on his fingertips and willing it out. At first the pressure was imagined, just a wish he created in his mind, but first a string of heat and then a wave of it flowed through him from his chest to his fingers, where it built up, trapped by the barrier of his skin. When the pressure became too great, it burst from his finger in a spark of flame. It was small, but when it caught the remnants of gasoline he had laid out earlier, it was enough.

He felt the fire spread in his chest. The plan had not been for him to connect to the flames or influence them. He sped them along, made them higher, brought them lower, let them dance around Mina and her two companions. Jenneva scurried to the middle of the circle Stiles's fire formed. Mina and Chase stepped toward the edges, but Stiles focused his anger at them, and the flames rose against the creeps' passage. That sent them back a few steps. Stiles grinned even though the horror on their faces made him queasy.

_"My friend,"_ Scott said again, "Thinks you're hiding something from us." He studied the flames appreciatively. "And I really don't think I'd want him mad at me, if I were you."

"People always tell you it's the quiet ones," Mina noted. "Guess they forgot about the magical pyromaniacs disguised as comic relief."

"That didn't sound like answers to me," Derek said. He turned to Erica. "Did that sound like answers to you?"

Erica made a show of shaking her head. "Maybe we should ask again?"

"No," Stiles said. "I think twice is enough." Erica glared because he'd gone off script, but Stiles stepped forward, and he watched the creeps' conscious effort not to step back. They had seemed cool at first—badass hotties out to cure the werewolf curse—but they couldn't explain what they'd done to Cassie. Not couldn't. Wouldn't. Stiles knew they had some other plans. Maybe Jenneva had a scientific interest in therianthropes, people who could transform into animals, but Mina and Chase had another goal hidden somewhere under their leather jackets.

Stiles focused his anger on their secrets, on their lies, on all the ways the Mortimer siblings' plans would backfire on Beacon Hills, and on the ways they already had. He shared his rage with the fire. Whips of flame shot from the circle toward the creeps at its center. Chase shouted and tried to back away, but Mina stood her ground. None of the lashes targeted Jenneva, but she cowered on the ground anyway.

"Calm down, baby brother," Mina said, with a hand on Chase's arm. "He's just soft enough to give us a chance before he hurts anyone." She turned to Stiles. "Besides, I think I know what he's picking up on."

Stiles smiled at her as the flames licked her brother's boots.

"We aren't in this for the sake of helping shapeshifters," Mina admitted. "It's more about pest control than that."

Stiles nodded even though this wasn't what he wanted.

"There's a reason it's just Chase and me. That reason was a wolf like your friends."

It sounded like the truth, but it was just more half truths, even if he ignored Mina's tendency to avoid telling stories. Stiles felt his pack's eyes on him, wondering if it was enough for him. They agreed to do this, threaten their own allies, on Stiles' hunch alone. Up until this moment, it had felt like a mistake, but Stiles was sure now that there was more, that they told the truth to avoid werewolf lie detectors, but avoided the important bits like slimey no-good creeps who... don't tell things that are important to know, or something.

"So you're trying to hunt werewolves by curing them instead of killing them?" Scott took the bait. He probably still wanted a cure himself.

"Is this still necessary?" Mina asked, motioning to the ring of flames around her.

"Yes," Stiles said. He felt his rage building as the flames fed back to him what he first fed to them. He knew the dangers of that loop, but he ignored them for now.

"I don't know what else you want from me." Mina raised her hands, but Stiles saw her eyes close and then open when she realized her mistake.

"That was a lie," Derek said.

"Let's start simple," Stiles said, "Why turn a nice high school student into a spider monster?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." Mina shrugged.

"Mina," Chase hissed, taking hold of her arm.

"No," Jenneva said, placing her own hand against Chase's arm. "We should tell them. Maybe they can help." She said 'they,' but her eyes singled Stiles out.

"You think he's...?" Chase sized Stiles up, and by the look in his eyes saw little of worth.

"You may have missed his trick with the fire. Please consult your burned shoe." Mina rolled her eyes. "We needed the girl to get something. It could be what we need to make our family's death mean something."

"Why didn't you just ask for help?" Scott asked.

"No one wants to be turned into a giant spider." Mina raised her hands as if to ask what else she could have done.

"Why didn't one of you do it then?" Erica stepped up beside Stiles as she spoke. Her arms were crossed and her eyebrows furrowed.

"No one wants to be turned into a giant spider," Mina said again, as if the answer were obvious.

Erica rolled her eyes. "Why do you need a giant spider?"

Jenneva answered this time. "I've found research indicating that spiders can spin webs across dimensions. Most of it was strictly theoretical, and while few studies have been able to establish a strong causal link, evidence such as werespiders' ability to disappear and reappear and to form large, confusing nest in what people once thought were shallow caves suggest it is at least worth looking into."

Mina chuckled. "Jenn likes to pretend nothing's true until the paper's been peer reviewed, but we've seen it happen before."

"So you want into another dimension," Stiles said, fighting back the urge to burn them all. He would have to extinguish the flames soon before he lost control. "Why?"

Mina stepped forward even though the flames jumped. "To get to the faerie, of course."

"What faerie?" Stiles asked before the others could give anything away. He remembered crawling through the tunnel filled with spiders to reach Thera's cavern and rubbed at one of the bites he'd gotten on the way through. At the time, he'd been too freaked out to notice getting bitten, but they started itching like hell after he got home.

"Most of the fae have moved on, but a few remain. This one didn't really have a choice but to stick around since her pocket dimension was tied to ours. She was trapped for sharing faerie secrets with a human wizard who turned out to be a psychopath." Mina shrugged as if crazy evil wizards were everyday topics for her. "Anyway, we figured she could take care of the spider girl once she was freed."

"We have a way," Jenneva added, "Or part of one, but not the power to enact it."

"Maybe you could help." Mina eyed Stiles. "You've clearly got some power. Maybe it's enough to climb the web."

"You mean the right kind," Chase grumbled. "It's flavor, not amount, that's our problem."

_Oh shit,_ Stiles realized he had trapped some kind of battle mage in his fire ring, which he was beginning to lose control of. He'd always thought Chase was generic muscle, but he wouldn't be that offended unless he had magic and it hadn't been enough.

"Tell me, Stiles," Mina said with a quirk of her eyebrow. "What flavor are you?" She made that way too suggestive given the decade or so age difference and the fact that her brother was _right there._

There was more, Stiles could feel it, but he could also feel the flames pulling out of his control, desperate for something to consume. They would either fade out or find something to burn soon enough, and they pulled at him, urging him to lead them to something they could kill for their life. Stiles felt it as a hunger, and stamped it down. Deaton had warned him about this. Stiles raised his hands and then brought them down, extinguishing the flames.

"I still don't trust you," he clarified because there was more, there had to be more. But, then, he had already freed their fairy.

"I am impressed you held the fire that long," Chase said, though he scowled through every word.

"Does that mean you think he could do it?" Mina prodded her brother's side as she spoke.

"Yes, probably." But it wasn't Chase's voice. It was Thera's.

**~.x.~**

Stiles collapsed onto his bed with a groan. He used his right foot to kick at his left until the shoe fell off it, then switched feet and repeated. Stiles raised his head just enough to look at his alarm clock and check—shit. There was no helpfully evil light to say the alarm was set. Stiles dragged himself across his mattress toward the clock to set it, grumbling that it should just set itself because he certainly didn't want it to go off in the morning anyway.

The night had been exhausting, even without literally creating fire from nothing and controlling it for much longer than he should have tried for. Once the creeps realized he had already freed Thera, or Pentanthera as Jenneva called her, they insisted on working out plans with her. Mina kept trying to slip in ways to meet Thera without the pack, but Stiles refused. He didn't want to deal with the fae himself, but he still didn't trust the creeps and had no intention of letting them alone with her.

"Their plan won't work," Thera said into his ear.

Stiles screamed but managed not to throw himself onto the floor this time. "Why do you feel the need to do that?" He asked, passing a hand over his eyes and trying to calm himself.

"Your reactions are funny."

He removed his hand so he could scowl at her. "At least you admit to your sadism." With a grunt, Stiles pulled himself into a sitting position. "Why won't it work?"

"They're basing it on healing magic and counter curses." Thera shook her head like their naiveté amused her. "Wounds and curses act upon the body, but therianthropy becomes part of the body. Ripping it away the way they intend to would only kill the host."

"You agreed to help them."

Thera shook her head, this time in denial. "I agreed to help the girl."

"That's..." Stiles tried to think of the right word. "Very nice of you." That wasn't it, but it would do.

"She spoke to me while I was sleeping," Thera said. "She told me about them, and about the rest of you. She wanted to eat you."

"Ick." Stiles shuddered, remembering how close he'd come to being eaten the last time he saw Cassie.

Thera reached out to Stiles' arm, probably meaning the gesture to comfort him, but Stiles jerked back. Every time Thera touched him, he remembered the feeling of her stone fingers pulling him beneath the water and the burning in his lungs as she kissed him nearly to death.

"Shifters need balance between their aspects," Thera said after a moment's silence. "The girl doesn't have balance because Jenneva Cole didn't know what she was doing when she introduced the werespider venom to Cassie's system."

"Where do people even get werespider venom? Why not just use the spider they got it from?" Stiles grumbled.

"The easiest way to harvest werespider venom is by draining it from someone killed by a werespider bite." Thera said it like a normal thing, not at all like murder or looting the dead.

Stiles crossed his arms, hoping it made him look closed off from Thera so she wouldn't try to touch him again. He focused on what Thera'd said before to get his mind off looting corpses for venom. "Can you give her balance?"

She nodded. "It's a type of healing, though very different from what Jenneva and Chase had in mind. I'll need a human and a werewolf to help. A werespider would be better, but there aren't any nearby."

"Scott will do it. He's wanted to save Cassie from the start, even when she tried to gnaw his leg off."

"And one of the three responsible should do for the human," Thera said. "Your friends' initial plan, having numbers to keep Cassie controlled with minimal risk to each of you, is a good idea. Bring them."

"Why did you agree to their plans instead of telling everyone this earlier?" Stiles asked. They could have saved time if Thera had been more helpful, and maybe Stiles could have been comfortably asleep by now.

"You don't trust them. I trust your instincts."

"I don't trust you either," he pointed out.

Thera smiled. "Good instincts." She kissed his cheek and disappeared.

Stiles groaned and collapsed back on his bed, too tired to bother wondering what she meant. He let his eyelids fall shut and finally got some rest.

**~.x.~**

"Is he doing okay?" Scott asked, rubbing the toe of his shoe against the floor of Deaton's office. "Stiles."

"Why do you think he's not?" Deaton continued working while he spoke, keying in notes and numbers he didn't quite trust Scott not to mix up. Probably because Scott kept getting them all out of order every time Deaton let him do it. His mom joked that Scott had better let his future wife handle the bills when Scott finally grew up properly.

"He's..." Scott stopped, trying to think of the right way to explain without sounding paranoid. "He made fire tonight, out of nothing, and he kept making it jump at people."

"You were trying to intimidate them, as I recall." Deaton set one page aside and picked up the next. Scott wondered how Deaton could possibly talk and type at the same time and eventually decided it must be one of Deaton's magic powers. Or he wished it was because he felt a little less useless thinking Deaton basically cheated.

"Yeah, but Stiles told us he wasn't strong enough to control fire. He made us set out gas and plants and stuff for it to burn, and then he said he might pretend to study the ground for a moment before lighting a match since he might not be able to light it the way you showed him." Scott could tell Deaton knew what he was talking about, but Deaton liked to make Scott figure things out for himself. He was a little frustrated, but not surprised, not to have gotten a straight answer yet.

"I didn't show him. I explained to him. Neither Stiles nor myself can spark a fire with just a thought. At our best, we can influence it to go ways it might have anyway rather than other ways it might have." Deaton set the last sheet aside and turned in his chair to face Scott.

"But... he did."

"Yes, you told me. I wonder..." He paused, giving Scott a look that meant he better listen to the next part. "What has changed since Stiles couldn't light fires?"

"Nothing. If he couldn't do it, why did you tell him how?" Scott saw the way Deaton was looking at him and knew he was supposed to answer that himself too. "Because you knew he'd be able to eventually?"

Deaton nodded. "Not this soon though. So, Scott, what changed?"

"That wasn't long ago. The only thing that happened is..." Scott froze with the realization. "He woke up the faerie." He turned his eyes from staring blankly inward at his own realization to Deaton's face. "That's it, isn't it? Thera."

"The fae can have strong affects on humans, especially those with untapped potential like Stiles."

"Do we need to, uh, do something?" This was the one Scott was afraid to ask, the question he desperately needed Deaton not to throw back at him.

Deaton rested a hand on Scott's shoulder and looked him in the eye. "I'm afraid there's not much we can do." As he turned to put his files away, Scott suddenly wished Deaton had turned the question back on him instead of answering. Before Scott left, Deaton spoke one more time, "Not much except get rid of the faerie before she makes things worse."

Scott didn't bother to ask how. He was learning to tell when Deaton didn't have answers for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Death Intimidation 3 and Halder Sherman were Nicole's idea. She suggested them as a joke, saying I should reference something specific for that scene. I liked them because I lol'd.


	3. The New Moon

They gathered beneath the new moon in the forest outside of town. It felt like coming together under nothing with only stars to light their way. The timing made sense though. If the beast was strongest under the full moon, it would be weakest now, and maybe Thera could break through its defenses to reach Cassie. As the pack reached their meeting place in ones and twos, Stiles hoped the new moon couldn't make the werewolves weaker too.

Scott and Stiles stood together under a tree. Derek had climbed the limbs of a taller tree to better watch Cassie's cave, and Stiles could only see him by the stars his silhouette blacked out. Isaac and Peter had arrived with him, the former joining Scott and the latter keeping his distance from the group. Erica and Boyd arrived not long later and greeted Isaac with nods and smiles even as they ignored the others. Jackson and Lydia came together, though they kept up a whispered argument about whether Lydia should be there at all. The only moment she seemed ready to back down was when she saw Peter, but Lydia Martin never backed down. When Allison found them, her eyes darted over the group until she noticed Derek in the tree. She positioned herself with her back to another tree and her eyes on Derek. Thera appeared at Stiles' side without warning. The creeps came last, but from a direction Stiles had noticed the werewolves kept glancing even though it was away from the werespider nest. They must have been waiting there.

Stiles shook his head, wishing he had friends who were actually friends instead of this group of rivals and half-enemies. They would have to do.

"Everyone ready?" Stiles whispered into the stillness.

"Jenneva and Scott will stay near Stiles, Lydia, and myself," Thera said softly.

"The rest of you, try not to kill Cassie or each other," Stiles grumbled.

Scott's eyes darted to where Derek sat in the tree. "He says she's come out of the cave," Scott said.

"Then I guess it's on." Stiles' chest was tight with all the things that could go wrong.

They advanced toward the cave on pre-established paths. The plan was to encircle her from the start, cut Cassie off from the caves, and keep her from running long enough for Thera to work her fairy magic. Thera could have been there first, but the plan required she arrive last, so she moved at the humans' pace.

Most of the others managed, but Stiles, Lydia, and Jenneva had no stealth training. They sounded quiet enough to Stiles' ears, but he knew their footsteps practically echoed all the way to the cave in the shifters' hearing. If he hadn't guessed it on his own, the way Scott flinched at every other step would have made it clear enough. Stiles brought a hand to grip the chiastolite necklace Deaton had helped him find. It was supposed to help Stiles, to ground and protect him. So far as he could tell, it was just a rock, but the ash he'd formed his first barrier with hadn't seemed special either.

They reached the others just where they'd expected to, hemming Cassie in from all sides. She leapt from person to person, crazed with her need to get away. They held her back. Thera motioned Scott and Jenneva over to link hands with her while Stiles stood a few feet away, keeping an eye out in case he was needed, or needed to run away. Thera began to hum softly, and Stiles felt a shift in the air around them. He knew it was her gathering energy, but he'd never felt anything like this before. The things Deaton showed Stiles sometimes pretended to be spontaneous, but only after careful planning and preparation. This was... like magic coming out of nothing. The only thing he could compare it to was the spark of flame, but Deaton said he should not have been able to create that in the first place.

Cassie shrieked and charged at Mina, slashing wildly with her arms. Boyd tackled the giant spider, but not before she sent Mina flying. Cassie rolled, pinning Boyd under her, only to leap off of him and through the opening Mina and Boyd left in the barrier.

"Shit," Stiles breathed as the others chased the werespider into the forest.

Thera stopped humming at the sound of his voice. She made a show of sighing and motioning for everyone to follow the others.

"Are you sure we shouldn't wait here?" Stiles asked. "In case they bring her back."

"I doubt they'll be able to drive her to the same spot twice. Come on." Thera began walking, and the others followed.

Though her voice had stopped, her body still hummed with the power she'd summoned. It faded as they moved, but slowly. Stiles wondered what he could do if he didn't have to ground himself or rely on objects before using magic. Too much, too soon, and too fast, that's what he could do. Stiles would just burn himself out, and he was already lucky not to have already done so with his flame trick the other night. Thera could manage because she was fae. Stiles could not because he was human.

He realized he had fallen behind and sped up to reach the group. Ahead, he heard the grunts and crash of a battle, but no screams of pain or alarm. They had the spider under control again. He touched a hand to Thera's shoulder and nodded to the space ahead when she looked to him. She nodded and began to hum, but she also motioned for the others to continue moving forward with her. She needed Cassie in her line of sight. That, at least, did not change with being fae.

When they reached the others, Thera continued her spell, hands linked once more with Jenneva and Scott. A pale light formed around the trio, and a beam shot out to connect with the spider. It was hard for Stiles to say if anyone else saw it. They avoided the beam of light, but it could have been instinctual, and Lydia's eyes, when Stiles glanced at her, seemed not to linger on the beam. The beam pulsed occasionally as Thera manipulated the power forming it, and _that_ Stiles was sure no one else noticed. He turned his eyes from the beam and watched the battle, hoping that this time Cassie would not break free.

"You're hurting them," Lydia hissed, bringing Stiles' attention back to the spell. Scott and Jenneva had fallen to their knees. They made no sound, but their mouths worked, almost like they'd been put on mute.

Stiles stepped forward to stop Thera. At the last moment, he grabbed Lydia's hand and waited for her to nod her agreement. Then Stiles reached out his other hand for the back of Thera's neck. He could not take control entirely, not even with Lydia's help, but maybe joining the spell would be enough to get through to Thera. He sensed the problem immediately, or maybe Lydia did; at this point he couldn't tell the difference. Thera was a being of magic, and she only knew how to draw through magic, but humans, and even werewolves, were nothing as powerful as fae. They worked differently. Stiles gently pressed into the spell, showing Thera the difference between a power, energy, and life force.

She propelled him into the spell and forced him to take it on. Stiles saw not just through the others, but as them. He wore each of their bodies and minds briefly, swerving between them until he understood the spell worked on and through them. Jenneva wore glasses, and the edges of her vision were fuzzy where the lenses didn't cover. Her clothes were tight, and stones dug into her knees through the fabric of her pants. Scott's senses were alive with his pain, powered by werewolf abilities and adrenaline both. The battle, while distant, might as well have been going on at his feet. Stiles felt the difference between them, the power and volatility of being a wolf, and the part of him that had always wished Peter bit him instead of Scott flared. Thera was a web of lies built of pure magic, blinding in its power. Stiles forgot his envy of Scott in his awe of Thera, and he forgot his awe in the bitterness of her deceit. He was too overwhelmed to pick out her lies, but it did not matter. She had pretended honesty to him, and now she could not. Cassie was rage and power and uncontrollability. She screamed within herself, beating at walls where Scott had built bridges. Stiles led Thera and her lies to crush the barriers, to build the bridges. Cassie beat back at him too, but Thera held her off until the fae understood what to do. Then she pushed Stiles away. He fell into Lydia, and it felt like coming home. She was warmth and protection, and he knew this was how it felt to be untouched, at least until he slid through the dark place where Peter had set his mark on her. Lydia forced Stiles away from that, and he came back into himself.

He stumbled back and hit the ground, not sure when he had let go of Thera or Lydia. He panted faster, and faster, as his lungs refused to take in air properly. He felt something sickly in the air, and recognized it as the feeling of Thera's lies. She was casting the spell, saving and protecting Cassie, but she was doing something else too. Stiles wished he could tell what, but the only thing that came to him clearly now was the burning in his throat and the way his vision blurred at the edges almost like Jenneva's did. Stiles knew it was coming before he passed out, but that didn't help him stop it.

**~.x.~**

Lydia took Stiles' hand even though she could not understand what he wanted from her. Most magic couldn't touch her, and when it did, it warped into something new the way Peter's bite had. Stiles knew that, so Lydia wondered if maybe he wanted her to help him break the spell to protect Scott. The only thing Lydia knew about Stiles was his infatuation with her, but it was enough to trust he would not do anything likely to get her killed. So she took his hand, and let him pull her forward toward the faerie.

Stiles' eyes rolled back into his head when he made contact. Lydia almost pulled him back, but Scott and Jenneva's silent screaming ended, so he must be accomplishing what he set out to do. Lydia kept hold of his hand even though she couldn't tell that she was doing anything to help. Over Thera's shoulder, Lydia watched Cassie lose some of her ferocity. She still fought, but by the way she kept turning to slash at empty air or clutching her head, Cassie saw some enemy other than the warriors hemming her in. Lydia hoped it wasn't Stiles. When she realized that was useless, Lydia settled for hoping Thera could protect Stiles from the werespider.

Then a force, nothing she could see even though she felt it distinctly, shot out of Thera and into Lydia. It paused there, stretching and, Lydia thought, taking solace. But then she felt it tugging at memories she never wanted to relive, and she pushed at it instinctively. As it left, Stiles' eyes returned to normal, but Lydia didn't have time to think how gross it was that he had literally been inside her because Stiles stumbled backward and hit the ground. Lydia lost her hold on him, but she thought she had already done whatever it was Stiles wanted of her.

He was gasping for breath, and Lydia knelt down to help. As she tried to get his attention and to calm him, Stiles stared past her at nothing, or maybe at Thera. He passed out, but Lydia wasn't sure if from stress, shock, or lack of oxygen. His breathing normalized once he was unconscious, and his pulse steadied slowly after Lydia pressed her fingers to his wrist to check it.

Convinced that Stiles was safe for the moment, Lydia turned her attention back to the fight. Cassie had collapsed onto the ground, gripping her head and convulsing. Her extra arms slashed though the air, clawing at something no one else could see. Scott was standing again, but his breath came in heavy pants. Jenneva breathed just as raggedly from where she kneeled to Thera's other side. The others circled Cassie, probably preparing in case she rose again. Mina and Isaac were shouting at each other, but their voices sounded far away, farther away than they should have. Lydia stood with a silent apology to Stiles and stepped forward. Once she passed Thera, their voices carried to her normally.

"She's defenseless," Isaac was shouting, gesturing at where Cassie rolled on the ground, screaming.

"She's not going to let me or my brother go." Mina, usually so determined to seem cocky and humorous, sounded angry and hopeless.

"Maybe you should have thought of that before turning her into a spider monster." Lydia had never taken much notice of Isaac even though he was on the lacrosse team. He had always struck Lydia as more of a follower, and she was only interested in leaders. Maybe she had been wrong about him.

Derek stepped forward between Mina and Cassie. "It's almost done. She's with us now."

"Are you stupid? This isn't turning her into a wolf." Mina's plan must have been to 'accidentally' kill Cassie in the woods. She had fallen a little too easily when Cassie escaped the initial circle...

"I know." He shrugged. "Jackson was a lizard for a while."

Isaac added, "We only minded because he kept trying to kill us."

"You people are crazy." Mina shook her head and snarled almost like _she_ was the wolf, but she backed down.

The tone of Cassie's screams shifted. Everyone turned back to her in time to watch her bloated body shrink and the extra limbs begin pulling back into her torso. Her strange spider-voice shifted into human screams of pain and terror, and Lydia thought Stiles was lucky to get to sleep through this part. Erica slapped Derek's arm, and he dropped his jacket around Cassie's shoulders before she fully returned to her human form.

Erica turned to Mina once Cassie was covered. "If you're really so worried, I think maybe you should get a head start while you still can." She smiled, but it wasn't kind. "Before I decide to tie you down for her."

Mina grabbed Chase and ran, but there was one more. Lydia glanced back at Jenneva and then spun around for a full look because Jenneva was screaming again. Beside her, Scott was on the ground. Lydia rushed to him to find both his breathing and his pulse even. She turned and tried to reach Jenneva, but something she couldn't see forced Lydia back. She turned a glare to the faerie. It had to be her. She had sided with Cassie from the start, and while Lydia couldn't blame either of them, what Lydia thought they were after was still murder.

"Let her go," She screamed, beating her fists against Thera, but they bounced away the same way her hand had when she tried to touch Jenneva.

Jenneva convulsed in her silent prison, hands clawing at her throat. Her face blanched and purpled as she struggled for air. Lydia screamed and wondered if her voice was blocked out too, or just hidden by Cassie's louder screams. She stumbled to her feet. Thera had kept her from herself and Jenneva, but there was one other Lydia could try. She stumbled down the incline between Thera and Cassie, hoping the distance would somehow help. The desire to kill Jenneva had to be coming from Cassie, or Thera would have tried it sooner. At least Lydia hoped that was the case.

She fell when she finally reached Cassie, and her hands landed on Derek's jacket where it covered the girl's shoulders. Lydia screamed something at her, too terrified to know what she was saying, but she felt something sever at her touch and knew the spell was ended. She turned back to Thera in time to see Jenneva fall to the ground. Even before she rushed up the hill to check Jenneva's pulse, Lydia knew she had been too late. She didn't care about Jenneva personally, but death was something more than Lydia knew how to deal with. It reminded her of Peter's ghost picking away at her mind; only this time she didn't have a way to cast it out. She crawled back over to Stiles, trying to take solace in having helped him at least, but it wasn't enough. Someone had just died because Lydia was too slow. The guilt weighed her down, and Stiles' face only made it worse. She knew he had expected her to stop anything like this from happening. If she knew anything about Stiles, she knew he believed in her, and that he was wrong.

**~.x.~**

"They'll be fine," Erica said, putting an arm around Cassie's shoulders. "The ones who matter anyway." Jenneva wasn't fine. She was dead. Cassie didn't seem too torn up about it though. Jenneva had been the one to change her.

"I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I never wanted..." Cassie took a long, ragged breath and gripped Derek's jacket tighter around her shoulders. She was wearing some of Erica's clothes now, but the jacket seemed to help her feel safer. "I mean I wanted it the way everyone wants to hurt people who are assholes to you, but I wasn't going to do anything about it. Then I suddenly couldn't do anything else. It was like everything but hatred was torn away from me, and I couldn't help but act on it."

"You might still feel like that sometimes," Erica warned. "Maybe not as bad."

Cassie pulled away suddenly. "Why couldn't you just make me human again? Or like you? A wolf isn't so terrible as a spider." She shuddered. "I hate spiders."

"We did what we could, and Derek said you're with us now. We'll still help you. These guys can be jerks and morons, but they're a good family." Erica hoped no one was listening in to hear that. She'd never live it down. Then again, given the crying werespider, they might let her off the hook. Isaac had said cheesier with less provocation.

Derek came in without knocking. "It's time," he said.

"I..." Cassie trembled. "What if I hurt them?"

"Try not to." As soon as he said it, Derek seemed to realize it was too gruff. "You have a place with us, if you ever feel too close or even if you're already in trouble."

Cassie nodded and wiped her eyes. She was handling this better than Erica expected her to, if not as well as Erica had hoped. After a few shaky steps, Cassie stood near enough to Derek that she shrugged out of his jacket and handed it over. He took it without even pretending to hesitate. Not that Erica was surprised; Derek had no idea how to treat a girl. His only settings seemed to be angry and seductive, and he ignored the second one ninety-nine percent of the time.

Erica stood. "I'll see her home," she said because she couldn't subject Cassie to Derek without feeling guilty. Erica had been strong enough to handle him, but Erica had chosen this and come into it without trauma. Derek was aware enough to simply nod and stand back to let the girls pass.

"He's... abrasive," Cassie noted when Derek was safely out of earshot.

"I'd say he grows on you, but..." Erica shrugged. "You get used to him anyway."

"He's your alpha."

"Yes." It hadn't been a question, but Erica didn't know how else to respond.

"You all don't treat him like he's in charge." Cassie eyed Erica suspiciously.

"He used to insist on it, but the pack fell apart." Erica shrugged. "It works better this way."

"That woman, the one who disappeared, was she really a... a fairy?" Cassie's eyes went wide at the word as if faeries were somehow harder to believe than anything else here.

"Enough people believe it that she might as well be. I don't care so long as she's not a threat."

"Practical."

"I find it's easier to be practical than to expect things I can't have." Erica paused and reached a hand out for Cassie's. "I barely know you, so I might hate you too much to be friends. But we're sisters now. When the things we can't have get to you, you can come to me."

"I keep feeling like I need to point out I'm not a werewolf." Cassie shied away from Erica's touch.

"So you're adopted. Jackson was adopted too, as a baby, and even if he's taken it like a whiny bitch, his parents still love him." She resumed walking, and Cassie followed. "We've got humans in the pack too. And honestly, no one's sure what Lydia is other than immune to werewolf bites."

"I-immune?" Cassie gasped.

"Don't focus too much on it. She can't help you." It was harsh, but Cassie needed to hear it.

Cassie nodded, and Erica knew she had hoped for just a second that Lydia's immunity meant something to anyone other than Lydia and Peter. They were nearly to Cassie's street now.

"One last warning." Erica could tell she had frightened Cassie, and maybe she was right to. "I don't know if it's the same for you, but werewolves have a harder time controlling the shift during the full moon. Until we learn control, we can't stop the shift. It's like the inevitability of your period except that instead of bleeding for a few days you stop being human." She frowned. "It sucks."

"How do I control it?" Cassie stared at Erica with wide, pleading eyes, and having this girl suddenly dependent on her made Erica a little more sympathetic to Derek's fumbles.

"You find something, Derek calls it an anchor, and you focus on it so that you stay human. It has to be something powerful, an emotion or a person important to you." Erica wished Derek had told her this sooner, but she knew it wouldn't have helped. She had just needed time.

"What's yours?" Cassie asked, and Erica wasn't surprised. Everyone always asked.

"I was an epileptic before Derek gave me the bite. I would have seizures at school, and... people treated me like shit. I thought I was shit. For a long time I didn't know how bad it was, and then one day, some jackass decided to film me, and the idiots around me, during a seizure. I watched them, the way they treated me, and I know other people watch it too because they thought it was... funny." Erica took a deep breath. "The bite cured me. I don't collapse during school anymore, and people don't make fun of how I can't control my bladder during a seizure or the frumpy clothes I wore to hide side effects like weight gain from my medication. I never have to face that again." It was more than she wanted to share, but it wasn't anything she hadn't shared before. "Freedom is my anchor."

Cassie nodded but didn't say anything. She just waved to Erica and continued the walk home to meet her family again for the first time since her disappearance. Erica turned to walk to her own home. When her feet carried her to Derek's instead, she just went inside and found something to sleep on.

**~.x.~**

Stiles woke in familiar darkness and knew it for his bedroom. Someone had put him in his bed lying on his back with the covers pulled up to his chin. He blinked at the dark ceiling as he waited for his eyes to adjust and tried to remember why someone else must have put him in bed.

He had passed out in the woods after showing Thera how to help Cassie. He hoped he'd gotten it right; Stiles was not an expert himself. Once his eyes adjusted, Stiles looked around his room to find it empty. No one had moved down the hall while he waited, so Stiles was probably home alone, or maybe with his father asleep in his own room. He sat up, letting the blankets pool at his waist below the t-shirt he'd put on that morning. For once Stiles didn't flinch when Thera appeared; he had expected her to come.

"How did it go?" He asked softly even though he was going to ask someone else later.

"Cassie is as in control as your werewolves." Thera smiled. "You are changed too. I didn't expect you to step in."

"What do you mean 'changed'?" Stiles scowled at her, worried what she had done to him while he slept.

"You were changed when you woke me too, in much the same way." She smiled. "You won't die of it."

"Changed..." Stiles hadn't been any different after waking Thera, except for all the years her constant startling of him probably cut off his life.

That wasn't quite right. His magic had changed. He had set a fire on his first try, had handled it, had practically _been_ the fire for a few moments. And he had interrupted a fae's spell to alter it. He had entered other people's bodies and minds and been them too.

He chuckled. "You mean unless I accidentally kill myself."

Thera waved the idea away. "That could have happened as easily without me." She leaned forward with a smile that made Stiles lean away. "I have one more thing to give you."

"I don't want anything from you, except for you to leave."

"Soon," she promised. "But not just yet. This last gift is for me too, and I am not willing to pass it up."

Thera leaned forward to press her lips against Stiles' and he remembered the moment those lips turned from stone to flesh and the agony of drowning while she used him to revive herself. Stiles shoved her away. As they separated, he realized there had been more than muscle behind the motion.

"I could make you so powerful," she whispered. "Don't you want that?"

"No." Stiles pulled in on himself because he knew he couldn't run far enough to escape a fae.

"Even if I could make you as powerful as I am? I felt how much you wanted it while you were in me." Her hungry smile promised something other than just power.

"I don't want to be like you." Someday, Stiles would find a way to say those words so they weren't a lie.

Thera laughed at him. She grabbed Stiles by the back of his neck and smashed their lips together, her former gentleness abandoned. "Most men enjoy this," she said, "As much as the power. Some enjoy it more." Thera grinned wickedly as she straddled him. "I wonder what kind of man you are?"

"The kind who isn't interested." He shoved at her again, but this time Thera only pushed him down.

She took him by the wrists and pressed them into the upper corners of his mattress. When she let go, Stiles tried to pull his wrists up, but they were trapped. She moved down the length of his body, and Stiles kicked at her. His blows bounced off a thin barrier surrounding her. That was when Stiles started screaming. Some of it was wordless, some for his father or the names of his friends, calling for their help.

"They can't hear you." Thera giggled. "Your father is in the next room, but he can't hear anything at all from us. To ensure... privacy." She set a finger coyly to her lips as she said it.

Stiles directed his voice at her then. He remembered the flames and focused his rage at her into his fingers. They were too near his head for safety, but Stiles thought a few burns might be worth stopping this. The pressure built quickly, but as soon as he discharged it, Thera leaned forward and caught the spark as it left his fingers.

"Your friends aren't wrong to be so wowed by you," she noted, studying the spark. "For a human to do this at all is amazing, but to do it under such pressure, and so fast..." She grinned as a shiver passed through her. "Even I'm impressed."

"They aren't... wowed." Stiles whimpered as Thera casually blew out his spark. He'd even thought for a moment as it left his hand that he was safe. Now... what else did he have? Stiles struggled against the invisible bonds on his wrists. He focused on them, on where they touched his skin. Maybe he could force them to break or loosen.

"Then they should be." She pressed her hands against Stiles legs, and they went numb. He tried to move, to kick at her again, but nothing happened except that Thera deftly unbuckled his belt. She pushed up the hem of his t-shirt and pressed a kiss to Stiles' stomach. "They clearly don't know what they're missing." She pushed the shirt up further and ran her tongue along his skin. Disgust knotted up his stomach as Stiles watched, unable to stop her.

"You... you'll have a hard time of it with a-a-a guy who isn't i-interested," Stiles stammered. "Even if I wasn't physically ill at th-the idea of what you want to do, which I am, so please grab me a baggy or something, I was feeling the stress today and worked it out by jerking off a few more times than usual."

"I know. I watched." Thera slid Stiles' jeans down past his hips, his knees, his ankles. "And it's not a problem, sweetie. I'm a faerie. I can _make_ you interested. And able." She smirked and slid a hand up the inside of his leg.

Stiles' revulsion didn't fade, but his arousal grew. Thera laughed as she led his boxers the same way she had his pants and planted a kiss on the inside of his thigh. Stiles began screaming again. No one heard him.


	4. Invisible

The alarm blared. Stiles rolled over with a groan and fumbled at it until the horrible noise stopped. He opened his eyes to check, just in case the alarm was wrong and he could fit in some more sleep, but the number six—the worst number ever invented—glared back at him. It was time to wake up.

"That better not have been the snooze," his father called. He rapped his knuckles against the door three times and passed on without waiting for Stiles to respond.

Even with time, Stiles couldn't have said anything. He had noticed a reflective black object behind his alarm clock. The light streaming through the window bounced off its curves, and the lip tapered slightly to more closely clasp the single red flower reaching out of it. Stiles lashed out, knocking the vase to the ground. It landed with a crash, and Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, wishing away memories of the night before.

When Stiles opened his eyes, the vase was beside his clock again, whole and unblemished, with the flower sprouting from its top. "Fuck," he muttered. He had no doubt Thera had left it for him. Stiles just wasn't sure why. She had what she wanted from him.

Stiles cringed away from that thought and stood from his bed. The hem of his yellow t-shirt fell from his armpits to his waist, and one of his socks caught a tangle in his sheets and slid off his foot. He wasn't wearing anything else. His boxers from the day before lay on the floor, and Stiles tugged them on as he headed for the door. He waited a moment before opening it, listening for his father. When he heard the dull thump of the refrigerator door, Stiles knew it was safe to move down the hall to the restroom.

In the restroom, he locked the door behind him and fell back against it. What was he supposed to do now? Stiles' breaths came in shorter and shorter gasps, and his eyes clamped shut to hold back tears. He couldn't cry; he couldn't break down. He couldn't let anyone know. Stiles bit his lip. It didn't matter. Guys couldn't be raped, right?

Stiles tried to unthink it. Backspace, undo, erase, delete. But there it was. _Rape._ For a long time, Stiles had expected—not anticipated or worried over, but _expected_ —to be injured or killed. His mind had painted gaping wounds, broken bones, and spilling blood for him time and again, sometimes while he was awake and sometimes while he slept.

There wasn't anything to show after this though. No gashes or scars. Stiles looked exactly as he had the day before when he thought a giant spider might eat him, and now he suddenly wished a giant spider _would_ eat him, or part of him. Better to lose an arm, so he could point to the stub of flesh and scream, 'This! This is what's wrong.'

His father's footsteps sounded from the hall, and Stiles stumbled forward to turn on the shower. He didn't want to talk, and this way he could explain hiding in the bathroom and pretend not to hear if his father said anything. The water poured down on his head when Stiles forgot to pull back and close the shower curtain. It was cold and ran down from the collar of his shirt when he stood. He pressed a hand against the beige-painted wall and forced his breaths to slow.

Breath in. One, two, three, four. Breathe out. One, two, three, four. Stiles focused entirely on his breathing, on making it slow and regular, on the way air passed through his chest and the way his belly expanded with it. Breathe in. One, two, three, four. Breathe out. One, two, three, four. His father passed by the restroom without a word.

With his bare foot, Stiles pushed off his remaining sock. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, then tugged at the waistband of his boxers in the other direction. The water had warmed by the time Stiles stepped in. It beat down on his chest and face, and Stiles imagined he could feel it echo through him. He braced himself against the wall, and the tile was still cool to his touch even if the water wasn't. Stiles promised himself he wouldn't cry. With the water pouring over his face, there was no way to tell if he managed it. Maybe if he cried now, he wouldn't have to later. He opened his mouth, and water slid along his upper lip to drip inside past his teeth. Stiles spat the water out and turned his back to the showerhead.

Most mornings, he would masturbate now, but the thought made Stiles' stomach churn. Instead, he skipped ahead to washing himself. No matter how much soap he rubbed into his skin, it didn't make him feel clean. He sat down to work at his thigh where Thera had kissed him again and again. When he couldn't scrub the memory away, he clawed at the skin with his fingernails. It turned red and raw, but Stiles still felt the tingling static of Thera's lips like his leg fell asleep where she touched it.

Stiles told himself not to think about the way the shower water tasted too much of salt. He reached for the faucet and stopped it. For a moment, he paused, sitting in the ceramic tub with one arm stretched behind him. There was a rattle in his chest, but Stiles heard only the last drips of water and his own breathing. Stiles closed his eyes, breathing in and out with careful slowness. He wasn't crying. He couldn't let himself cry. He couldn't let anyone see.

No one could see, he remembered. This didn't come with scars.

His towel hung beside the tub. Usually, Stiles wiped his face dry first, but he gave his eyes extra time this morning. Not because he was crying, but because he thought they might have caught some water today and wanted it to empty out first instead of drying his face twice. He still dried his face three times before wrapping the towel around his waist and creeping back to his bedroom.

The air was cool against his damp skin. Stiles locked his door and leaned back against it like he had in the bathroom. The flower sat where he remembered it, a dirty joke Thera had left for him. Looking at it made him sick, so Stiles turned his attention to the chest of drawers against his wall. Staring at his clothes, Stiles kept wondering what you were supposed to wear after being raped by a fairy. The same thing you wore before, he decided eventually. He didn't want anyone to notice.

Thera hadn't killed or hurt him. At worst, his wrists were a little sore because he kept tugging at her invisible restraints. Scott had been torn nearly inside out by the spell. Cassie had literally become a man-sized spider. Mina had been limping when last he saw her, so she had probably hurt her ankle. Stiles wasn't injured. Stiles was fine. The loose shards in the hollow of his chest were his imagination. He pulled on a band t-shirt and jeans under a grey jacket he found in his closet. Then he nearly left barefoot before remembering to pull on his yellow sneakers.

His mind backtracked a few lines. Scott. That spell must have taken a lot out of him and Jenneva, way more than it had taken out of Stiles, Thera, or Lydia. Stiles crawled around the floor until he found his jeans from yesterday halfway under the bed. He dug in the pockets for his phone and texted Scott, _'you ok?'_

His chest tightened while he waited for an answer. The broken pieces almost seemed whole when shoved so close together. He kept wiping at his face and telling himself it was just to check, just in case, so he ignored the wet spots on his sleeve.

_'Yeah.'_ Relief, relaxation, rebreaking. The text was followed by a ring as Scott called. Stiles wasn't sure he was up to talking just yet—he tried to make up a story for himself about being thirsty—but he answered anyway.

"Hey," He said, not sure he could manage more.

"Hey," Scott answered. "I didn't think texting really felt right to tell you..." He paused, and Stiles instantly wondered who had died. "Jenneva Cole didn't make it." Stiles should have felt surprised or sad, but the closest he got was tense. "Thera," Stiles tensed at the name, "Said she did everything she could, but Cassie lashed out. She couldn't control herself at that point because of the spider, and Thera couldn't stop it. We... It's not Cassie's fault."

"I won't blame her," Stiles whispered, and he hoped Scott mistook the state of his voice and thought Stiles was upset Jenneva had died.

"Okay, good, yeah. Cassie's pack now." Scott sounded so nervous, like he thought Stiles would reject Cassie on the basis of having tried to kill him once, even though that seemed to have become a prerequisite to being his friend. "Mina and Chase ran for it in case Cassie tried to kill them too. Or maybe they left before she died. I was sort of passed out by then."

"Yeah, me too."

Scott chuckled. "Everyone else is okay." Everyone who mattered was alive. "Lydia said you, um, saved me. That you did something to Thera's magic to make it work right. I think I remember for a second feeling you during... anyway, thanks." Stiles imagined Scott smiling with his puppy dog eyes and unstyled hair falling over his forehead. "I'll see you at school then."

"Yeah. Later." Stiles hung up. He thought about being Scott for a moment in the woods and wished they could trade places. It would be so much easier to be Scott.

A knock came at his door. "You left your clothes on the floor again," Stiles' father said in the same exasperated tone he told Stiles this every morning.

"Sorry," Stiles yelled the same way he did every morning even though he always left them there until he tripped over his pants on the way to the toilet after school. He hadn't worn pants to bed last night though, so he couldn't trip on them today.

Once more, Stiles checked his face, but this time his sleeve came away dry. He grabbed his backpack and headed for the door.

"Have some breakfast," his dad tried to order as Stiles passed the kitchen.

"Not hungry. See you later." Stiles slammed the door louder than necessary to cover his father's response and jumped into his Jeep before he could change his mind about going to school. He had to go to school and act like nothing had happened. Well, he had to go to school and act like a woman had died, but not one who was close to him or who he particularly cared about, but he had to pretend to be pretending everything was fine because only the pack knew about Jenneva Cole. Stiles practiced grinning in the rearview mirror on the way to school. It came easily enough. He already pretended to smile all the time.


	5. Bottled Hurricane

"It's like she's become a mini Erica," Scott said, staring openly as Erica and Cassie approached, both in leather skirts, low-cut tops, and painfully high heels.

"Mm-hm," Stiles agreed absently, tracing patterns over the cafeteria table.

"They're close enough to hear you," Isaac point out, but he snickered while he said it.

"I didn't say anything bad." Scott shoved a spoonful of mashed potatoes in his mouth, and Stiles wondered if he'd realized how likely he was to say something stupid if he left his mouth unstopped. Then Stiles felt bad for thinking that about his friend and shoved his own mouth full of potatoes too.

When the girls had finished their saunter across the cafeteria, they took their seats at the pack's table. "Looks awesome, doesn't she?" Erica asked, clearly meaning Cassie.

"I don't know." Lydia sounded as pissed as she had the first day Erica came to school after being bitten. "I think I miss the bows."

"Me too," said Allison, "But without the sudden need to question my sincerity or motives." She sent Lydia a critical look before turning back to Cassie. "I always thought they were cute."

Stiles lost interest and zoned out their conversation. He pushed around the stuff cafeteria ladies called food, and lifted a few bites to his mouth when he was feeling brave. Boyd had left his bottled water on the table uncapped. Stiles stared at it. Water was different from fire. It didn't need something to consume, but given enough time, it still worked its way through any obstacle in its path. Water was perseverance and inevitability. It operated through small motions that became massive changes only long after.

There was a reason Stiles had started elemental practice with fire. It suited the part of him that wanted to shout and hit things and offer witty yet biting commentary when something was dumb enough to threaten his friends. Deaton told him it was important to see himself in all the elements though. Stiles stared at the sterile, bottled water and tried to imagine himself with patience. His mind wandered long before he reached an answer, but Stiles thought he tended to wear people down until they got used to him the way rivers wore down mountains to make their beds. That was how he'd made his place in the pack anyway.

Maybe it wasn't enough, but Stiles focused on the water and his tenuous link to it. He didn't want much from it, just a small shift. Ripples formed across the surface, spreading out to the edges of the bottle. Slowly, Stiles willed the motion deeper beneath the surface of the water. It resisted, but Stiles reminded himself that mountains resisted riverbeds and eventually were worn away regardless. Bit by bit, he sent the motion deeper. The ripples grew at first but later were swallowed by the motion of the water. It churned in its bottle like a tiny hurricane dancing just for Stiles.

"Stiles," Scott shook him by the shoulder, and Stiles realized this wasn't the first time he had said his name. His concentration broke. Without his control, the water lost its balance and toppled the bottle.

"What?" Stiles snapped as Boyd's water spilled across the table.

"I asked if you'd seen Thera. Lydia thought maybe she'd skipped town." Scott noticed the water then and jumped back before it spilled in his lap. "Aw shit." His eyes scanned the table and landed on the toppled water bottle. "Dude, be careful."

Boyd rolled his eyes because he hadn't done anything and then shrugged.

Stiles scowled. "I haven't seen Thera." He bit off the words. Talking about Thera made him remember what she did. He pushed the water to flow away from him rather than jumping back from it the way Scott had. His chest vibrated with tension and hurt.

"Aw, is Stiles sad he's not special anymore?" Jackson asked with a mocking pout. He sat safely out of the water's spreading reach.

Stiles wanted to say, _I wasn't special to begin with,_ but when his eyes left Jackson, he found actual worry in his friends' expressions. He didn't want to bother them. "Dude, do you think I'm not special?" He turned to Scott. "Tell him I'm special." He grinned, and the worry melted from Scott's face.

"You're some kind of special anyway." Scott smiled when he said it though.

Stiles paused, pretending to weight the comment. "Good enough," he declared as he stole every napkin within arm's reach to stop the flow of Boyd's once-bottled water.

Allison left the table for more napkins, and the conversation left Stiles behind, even if they lingered on Thera and where she could have gone. Stiles thought of the flower she had left him. Destroying the flower did no more good than breaking the vase. He could move it, but not outside his bedroom or into the closet. In the end, he'd left it on his desk at the center of a ring of salt and mountain ash even though he had no idea if either worked against faerie magic.

Stiles traced the outline of the flower in the water left on the table. It was an azalea. He'd had to look it up, but it matched the pictures he could find. Plus 'pentanthera' was the same thing as an azalea, so Thera's name gave it away.

"Stiles." Scott shoved at Stiles' shoulder again. "Dude, seriously."

"Huh?" Stiles smudged out his water doodle.

"Training in the woods today. You in?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "You mean so I can fail horribly to keep up and get laughed at by a bunch of superhuman cheaters? Maybe next time." When Scott pouted, Stiles added, "I've got an essay or six to write, dude. Give me a break."

Scott sighed and admitted that Stiles' dedication to his studies was admirable. The word he used was, "Fine," but he stretched out so it should have had about fourteen 'i's. Stiles groaned and dropped his head to the table because those essays were not lies. He gave up on his lunch and tried to think of something interesting that related to _The Grapes of Wrath_ that didn't have to do with breastfeeding because apparently Stiles, and only Stiles, was forbidden from discussing the end of the book.

**~.x.~**

Jackson was surrounded by idiots.

**~.x.~**

"I hate running," Chase grumbled, pulling his coat tighter.

Mina ignored the cold. "When we have the fae, we won't have to run anymore." Mina felt her promise fall flat against her brother's ears. He used to believe every empty promise, but it had been too long now, and she'd failed him too many times. Well, maybe she hadn't ended their running, but she hadn't gotten them caught either.

"She's much stronger than we expected." Chase never could resist working through a problem, even one he deemed useless. Mina shied from thinking how many times she had used that against him already.

"Could it be the boy?" She had seen the way Stiles stepped up at the end. Chase told her it should have been impossible, but he was the first to admit he knew hardly anything about faeries. Jenneva would have known. She had been useful.

Chase nodded. "If I'd known about him..." He shook his head. "We couldn't have. Did you see the looks on his friend's faces when he worked the fire?" Mina saw the awe in Chase's eyes and frowned. Her brother was stronger than Stiles, but he worked slow magic, careful magic, nothing like the recklessness Stiles had shown since waking Pentanthera. "Even they didn't know."  
"Will it last or fade now that the fae has moved on?" Mina hoped Pentanthera took the boy's magic with her. The fae was her target, but something told Mina she'd have to face the Beacon Hills pack again before this was over. Nothing ever ended as easily as running away in the middle of a spell that eventually killed one of her soldiers. Mina wondered when _that_ became easy.

"I don't know how to tell," Chase admitted, brushing his hair back the way he always did when nervous. "But we should count on him keeping it. And getting stronger."

Mina nodded. Then she glanced back over at the map Chase hid behind him. "Still no luck?" She asked.

"None." Chase growled. "It's like she doesn't exist." He reached back for the map, but Mina took hold of his wrist to stop him. In a temper, Chase might destroy the map. His location spells had failed so far, but Mina wasn't ready to give it up.

"She's somewhere, just hidden." She released her brother's wrist once he had calmed down. "Why would she hide now?" If they knew, maybe they could find her.

"How should I know?" Chase hunched forward and clenched his fists defensively.

"I was thinking out loud, little brother." Mina rubbed a hand along his forearm to comfort him. "The last thing she did before leaving town was the spell. Could it have weakened her?"

Chase paused a moment, obviously thinking it over. His shoulders relaxed as he focused his mind. "Yes, but the pack would have protected her after she helped them."

"They always liked Jenneva better than us. Maybe they blamed Pentanthera for her death?" Jenn had been the one to turn their classmate into a monster, but she had always been so sweet and earnest around strangers that they would never guess the lengths she went to for her precious science.

Chase shook his head. "It was most likely backlash from the werespider that killed Jenn, and the wolves are treating her as pack so far as I can tell." He tapped a finger against his lips. "It must be something else. If not something from after, then maybe something from before the spell."

"All she did before was follow Stiles Stilinski around." Mina shrugged. "Not a very exciting pastime."

"Stiles..." Chase didn't look bored or lost anymore. His eyes burned with certainty. "She was too attached to him. She would have visited him before leaving."

"You've listened in enough to know she didn't." Mina nodded toward the box holding the closest thing to a crystal ball they could steal. Chase claimed it only worked half the time, but he still spent most of his free time staring into it.

"Enough to know he _claims_ she didn't." Chase smirked.

"You think he's lying."

"It's the only thing that makes sense. By the way she followed him, Pentanthera either owed him something or wanted something from him."

Mina grinned. "Either way, she'd have visited him for the give or take before leaving."

Chases nodded, grinning back. "Even if she left things unfinished because she was too weak, she'd have left a talisman to connect them so she could return easily."

"I guess we need to pay Stiles a visit." Mina began packing their supplies immediately. It was time to return to Beacon Hills.

**~.x.~**

Derek came in through the window after Stiles closed the bedroom door behind him. He wondered briefly why he was surprised anymore, then sighed as deeply as he could and asked Derek what he wanted Stiles to look up.

Derek's eye darted from Stiles' face to his feet and back. "How did you know that—"

"You always need me to find something out for you. I'm used to it." Stiles motioned for Derek to sit in the spare chair as Stiles took his own seat at the computer. "Lay it on me."

Derek leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, and sighed a sigh so heavy it put Stiles' earlier attempt to shame. "Unicorns," he said in the voice he might have used asking Stiles to research how to kill a kanima in its alpha form.

"Dude, stop messing with me." Stiles rolled his eyes and put on his best grin. He hadn't expected such acting from Derek.

"I'm not."

"Unicorns are real too?" Stiles fought off images of beautiful white horses with silver horns prancing across the glittering stream of a springtime glen while virgins bathed in white robes in the background. He forced himself to focus on the unshaven werewolf blocking out the moonlight streaming in through the window.

"Not the kind you're thinking of." Derek gave him a look that said he knew _exactly_ what Stiles had just imagined.

Stiles pouted. "What kind then?"

"They're supposed to be some kind of interference or disturbance, usually because of two dimensions drifting too close together." He sat back as he spoke, running a hand through his hair. "We're not sure if they're dangerous themselves or just a sign of other dangers."

"So dimensional drift is a thing?" He scratched at his chin then turned his gaze to Derek. "Who is 'we'?"

"Peter, mostly," Derek said with a shrug. "His laptop has a lot of information, but we need more."

"That's where I come in." Stiles jabbed his thumb against his chest. "What about Allison's beastiary?"

"She won't speak to me." He scowled as if he'd expected her to forgive him for her mother's death by now.

"She'll speak to Scott and Lydia, and they both speak to you. Sort of." This time he pointed a finger at Derek.

"That's why _they_ are talking to Allison while I talk to you." He crossed his arms and drew himself up. This was clearly the part where he intimidated Stiles into doing what he wanted. "So are you going to find out what you can about unicorns?"

Stiles cracked up. "Oh God," he wheezed. "I'm sorry." Not very sorry. "But your scary face above the word 'unicorns' is just..." He doubled over laughing.

"This is serious, Stiles."

"No, I got that." He snorted. "You're just..." He motioned vaguely at Derek to indicate how ridiculous his seriousness was when combined with unicorns.

"I'm just what?" His eyebrows furrowed together, and his eyes narrowed.

Stiles repeated his all-of-Derek gesture. "You!"

"Of course I'm me." He cocked his head. "And if you keep waving your hands like that, I'm going to bite them off." His eyebrows rose this time.

Stiles rolled his eyes to show just how much he believed that, but they landed on the vase mid-roll, and he realized this was the first time he'd laughed honestly since Thera left it for him. It had moved again to sit atop the shelves by his desk. He thought the azalea liked to be close to him. Derek turned toward the shelves, and his eyes scanned up and down them.

"What is it?" He asked. "What did you see?" He turned further toward the window for a moment, but then he turned back slowly until his eyes rested on the flower. "Stiles," he said, and his voice had lost its edge. "I can't smell that."

"What?"

"There's a flower there, right?" Derek motioned to the shelf and waited for Stiles to nod. "Well, I can't smell it. That means there's something wrong with it."

Stiles forced himself not to panic. Derek didn't know. He couldn't know. He would be asking entirely different questions if he knew. "Well, it's a magic flower." It didn't come out as offhanded as he'd hoped.

Derek leveled a flat stare at him. "I can hear your heartbeat. Not much point in faking the rest."

Stiles scowled and stuck his tongue out because it was the only thing he could think of to do. "It's from Thera," he grumbled. Derek hated Thera, so maybe he wouldn't want to talk about it.

"You need to get rid of it." Derek stood and made a grab for the flower, but his hand passed in front of it by a few inches. He stared at his palm. Slowly, he stretched his hand forward until his finger pressed against the vase. Then he wrapped his hand slowly around it and lifted it carefully. Once he brought the flower level with his eyes, the vase disappeared to reappear on the desk by Stiles' elbow.

"You can see now why I haven't." Stiles would have managed to fill the words with more sass if Derek didn't look so terrified.

"This isn't funny, Stiles. The fae are _dangerous._ "

"So are werewolves."He shrugged. "But I'm fine." Stiles realized his mistake too late.

Derek's eyes widened, and his mouth fell open so he looked nothing so much as lost. "You lied." Disbelief practically oozed from his mouth and down his chin to the carpet. He fell back into his chair, visibly steeling himself to play the role of dad/alpha to a pack member. "Why aren't you fine?" Stiles heard the echoed, 'You're always fine,' in Derek's voice.

Stiles turned away from Derek and opened his laptop. Derek reached a hand out slowly to rest on Stiles' arm, and Stiles flinched back from the touch. "We're not friends," he hissed. "I don't have to talk to you."

"Stiles—"

"I'm not even pack. You know Scott's only with you now because he needed your help, and the first chance he has to back out, he'll take it, just like he did before. I go with Scott. I'm not your friend. I'm not your pack. I'm not your responsibility. So just get out of my room, and I'll call you when I know something about your damn _unicorns_." The word wasn't funny that time.

Derek's eyes flashed red. He stood with enough force to throw the chair back, and it hit the floor with a crash Stiles knew his dad had to have heard. "You may not have seen her as a danger, but you never liked the faerie. And that," he swung a claw in the direction of the vase, "That means she's coming back for you." Scowling, he leaned down, gripping the arms of Stiles' chair, and growled his next words from mere inches in front of Stiles' face. "When she's back, you better hope you still have a pack to protect you." The word 'pack' came out bitter and dark. Derek stalked across the room and left through the window just as a series of short taps came at Stiles' door.

"Everything all right in there, son?"

"Yeah," he called out of habit. "Yeah, I just... tripped over my dumb chair." He forced a chuckle. "I think it suffered more than I did though."

Stiles listened to his father walk away.

**~.x.~**

Sometimes Allison found it hard to spend time with the pack. One moment she would be smiling and thinking of them as her friends, and the next she'd remember her mother's face and imagine how she must have felt killing herself as she became a werewolf. Allison tried to be nice, tried to be a good, moral person, but it wasn't hard to remember why she had turned to hunting. The rage still rode in her blood. When she looked at Derek Hale, she knew it was _his_ teeth that destroyed her mother, and the rage boiled over.

She sat on her bed, trying to decide between homework, archery, and sleep. Thinking about Derek made her want to choose archery practice. She knew he was only protecting Scott, and she knew, no matter how determined she was to stay out of a relationship with him, that she still did and always would love Scott. But it was her _mother._ Even if she had wanted to, even if she had liked Derek, Allison couldn't just forgive the hole Derek had bitten in her life.

A knock came at her bedroom door. She called, "Come in," and reflexively wiped away tears that weren't there.

Lydia entered, followed by Scott. Both of them together could only mean Derek had sent them.

"What does he want?" Allison snapped. She knew Lydia would only agree to play messenger for Derek if it was important. It was still Derek though.

"A look at the beastiary." Lydia wasted no time. She sat herself down on the bed. "You won't even have to look at him, I promise. He can't read it anyway, so it'll be all me." Her smile was reassuring.

"What's trying to kill people this time?" Allison pulled her sleeves down to cover her hands. She couldn't just keep hiding from Derek, not if there was a legitimate threat and she had a chance to stop it.

The way Lydia pulled in her lips and raised her eyebrows before speaking should have prepared Allison for it. "Unicorns."

Allison was not prepared. "Unicorns."

Lydia nodded, and her expression spoke volumes to the ridiculousness of this. "Unicorns."

"Apparently they're not just really pretty horses," Scott said.

"Then what are they?" Allison asked.

Scott shuffled his feet. "There was something about dimensions..."

Lydia gave him a look that said he shouldn't have tried. "According to Peter—a questionable source—they appear when two dimensions drift too close together. No one knows why or what they do, or how much of what is attributed to them is a result of dimensions clashing and vice versa. We're hoping your family's beastiary has more information, or at least enough to back up Peter's."

Allison nodded. She stood and walked to her desk, careful not to pass too close to Scott. No need to tempt herself unnecessarily, even with Lydia there to chaperone. She had made multiple copies of the beastiary just in case. A flash drive in her desk was one of the easiest to reach, so Allison pulled it out and handed it to Lydia.

"You should keep a copy anyway," she said, "Since you're the only one who can read Archaic Latin." She tried to smile and succeeded because it was for Lydia.

"Thank you," Lydia said, taking the flash drive. "Do you want to know what I find?"

Allison hesitated. Lydia had offered not to involve her with this, with the pack, or with Derek. But someone could be hurt. Allison was a hunter. She had a responsibility to keep people safe. "Yeah, let me know."

Lydia nodded and moved forward to give Allison a hug. "I'll call you later, okay."

"No," Allison returned the hug even as she shook her head. "Focus on the beastiary. We'll talk another time."

Lydia nodded, but she looked worried as she stepped away. She tugged Scott out the door with her rather than letting him say goodbye. Allison wanted to have said goodbye to him almost as much as she was grateful she hadn't needed to. She shook her head at herself for being so emotional.

"I'm stronger than this," she told herself, but instead of her training gear, she changed into pajamas.


	6. Azalea

Stiles stopped shoving bacon into his mouth to stare at his father. "You okay, Dad?" He asked, motioning to his untouched breakfast. "I let you have bacon today. I thought you'd be, you know, eating. Bacon."

"Yeah, it's nothing." He waved a hand but stayed distracted by the files beside him on the table. "Just work stuff."

"'Just work' doesn't cut it when you're sheriff because your 'just work' is life-and-death. Maybe I can help." Stiles reached for the files, but his dad pulled them back. "Come on!"

"I should not be sharing this with a teenager." He closed the file. "You always get way too involved anyway. Don't think I've forgotten about your classmate holding you hostage because you knew who he was."

"Hey!" Stiles did his best to sound offended. "I helped you solve the case though, right?" He'd known about Matt because he was friends with the local werewolves, not because of his father sharing information from his investigation, but Stiles kept that to himself.

"And then he drowned." He was either not buying Stiles' 'I'm perfectly normal' act or he was legitimately stressed out over work.

Stiles shrugged. "Doesn't change that I was useful. Come on. Use my brain." Even if he didn't have to convince his dad he was just as interested as usual, Stiles would welcome the distraction. "Oh my God, did someone die?" A death might explain why his dad was reluctant to share. He always hesitated over deaths, especially violent ones.

"No, Stiles. It's a missing person, so you can stop..." He gave Stiles the look that meant he'd gotten overeager with something too morbid. "Salivating." He shook his head, and Stiles imagined him asking himself how he'd raised such a depraved child.

"Anyone I know?" He tried not to... salivate.

"Stop prying." He picked up the file and stood. "Why don't you take care of the dishes since you're so eager to help me out today." He left for work with a wave and a smirk.

Stiles let his expression fall as soon as his father was out the door. He dumped his father's uneaten breakfast into the trash and the dishes into the dishwasher. For a moment he paused, leaning back against the counter and staring at the tiled pattern of the floor. His fingers gripped the counter's edge behind him so tightly its corner bit into them. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing until his grip loosened and he stepped away from the counter.

"Is this a personal moment, or can I interrupt?" Stiles heard the smirk in Derek's voice and hated him for it.

"What do you want?" He couldn't look straight at Derek, not without knowing how much he had seen or heard, and Stiles found his eyes wandering the room until they settled on Derek's shoes. Sneakers. Black. Practical. A little mud-splattered.

"Unicorns," Derek said like it was obvious.

"I couldn't find anything." Stiles threw his hands in the air. "So far as I can tell, you'd have better luck throwing a virgin into the woods and waiting until magical ponies come to her." In his anger, Stiles forgot to stare at Derek's feet. Once their eyes met, he couldn't look away because it felt like losing.

"I could throw you in the woods." Derek had crossed his arms and settled his weight on his left foot. His head tilted as he spoke, and he broke their eye contact just long enough to look Stiles up and down as if measuring his chances of survival in the woods. By his expression, he thought Stiles would trip into a canyon and die.

"Not a virgin." He hadn't expected the rage in his voice or the surprise on Derek's face. No, of course he was surprised. Stiles had never dated anyone, never had a chance to lose his virginity. He turned away from Derek, wishing he could turn away from himself, and stalked from the kitchen. When he tried to slam his bedroom door, Derek caught it easily and held it open even though Stiles kept trying to push it shut.

"You've been acting weird... er than usual," he said.

"Go home, Derek." Stiles gave up pushing and leaned back against the door.

"Did the fae return?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "No, and I thought you didn't want to help me if she did."

"I never said that." Derek's voice took on the same defensive tone Scott's did when he knew he'd basically said what he didn't technically say.

"You implied it. Don't say you didn't because I'm not dumb, and I won't buy it. So go baby your little wolves, and I'll keep looking for your stupid one-horned beasts." That was something he hadn't thought of: focusing on the horn instead of the beast. Maybe it would help him bypass the abundant but useless mythology.

"I got angry, okay. You know the pack will help you." He hadn't said _he_ would help Stiles, but then Derek wasn't very good at talking. This was probably the best he could do.

Stiles sighed. Derek hadn't forced the door open, but he could have. Holding it there, with just a few inches of air for their voices to pass through, was some kind of favor to Stiles, who wasn't strong enough to force Derek back. Stiles stepped away from the door and let Derek in. "You're not a good alpha," he said, but his voice was too tired to put any bite in it.

Derek entered the room growling, and his eyes flashed red.

"Hey, don't get me wrong, your uncle was worse." Stiles collapsed onto his bed, trying not to think too hard about Peter as the alpha. But at least _Peter_ had given Stiles a choice. The flower by his bed seemed to mock him.

"My uncle was a psychotic murderer bent on revenge at all costs."

"Yeah, see, worse." Stiles stared at the azalea, willing it to disappear.

"He didn't set the bar very high." He walked over to the bed and reached over to pick up the vase. "Still here."

"Put it back. You won't do any good." Stiles had already tried everything.

Derek ignored him. Instead, he pressed his fingers against the stem of the flower and lifted it slowly from the vase. When Stiles tried the same, it had burned his fingers so badly he flinched away and resolved only to touch it by the cool, ceramic vase. At first he thought it wasn't burning Derek, but then he noticed small trails of smoke rising from his fingers.

"You might not insta-heal from that, dude," he said, but Derek continued anyway.

The stem was longer than Stiles expected, longer than should have fit in an eight-inch vase. After two feet of impossible stem, the end finally left the vase's tapered lip. Hanging upside-down from the stem by its furry black legs was a spider. As Derek pulled the stem away from the vase, the spider lowered itself slowly by a string of web. Then it climbed back up the web and raced up the stem toward Derek's hand. He dropped both flower and vase before the spider could reach him. They never hit the floor. Stiles turned away from Derek to find them perched safely on his bookshelf. The spider was gone too, probably back inside the vase.

"That was..." Stiles couldn't think of the right word.

"A spider?" Derek wasn't looking at Stiles though, but across the room at the vase.

"Why? Does that mean something?" Stiles leaned forward. When Derek shrugged, Stiles collapsed back against the mattress. "Maybe you should just let me handle my fairy problem myself."

"You were right," Derek said, and for a moment Stiles missed that it was past tense. "It didn't heal." When Stiles propped himself up on his elbows to look at Derek, he saw a pair of lines burned into Derek's outstretched finger and thumb.

**~.x.~**

This was not what Cassie expected when they told her she was pack. Isaac leapt at her, snarling, with eyes glowing gold and fangs bared. She tried to dodge him, but he predicted her and brought his claws to her throat.

"I feel like I was stronger before," she muttered and raised her hands in surrender.

"You were trying to kill us before," Boyd said from his seat on a wooden crate.

"You weren't trying to kill me?" She didn't know which one to look at because Cassie wanted everyone to answer. She would have been trying to kill it if a giant spider started attacking people.

"We knew there was a person inside." Isaac smiled like it was a good thing to be a human being locked away inside a spider. Cassie wanted to bite through his cheek and make him take it back.

"It was Scott, mostly," Erica added. "He has a bit of a hero complex. It worked out well for Jackson, so we decided to give him a chance." Cassie wondered if she would be safely dead now if not for Scott McCall.

"What about Derek?" He was supposed to be their alpha, their leader, but it seemed more and more like he took orders from Scott. None of them answered, but their shifty eyes meant Derek had wanted to kill her. Cassie thought better of him for it. If only he'd gone through with it when she fought him in the cave with Stiles. She rolled her eyes at their attempt to baby her and said, "Okay, who's next?"

Erica stepped forward. She had taken to Cassie like an older sister since the spell, and she was by far the most vicious sparring partner. The boys tried not to hurt Cassie, to take into account her inexperience, but Erica was never afraid of going too far. Where Isaac held her lightly by the throat, Erica would pound Cassie into the ground and pin her. It was nice not to be treated like a delicate flower.

Cassie crouched, keeping her eyes on Erica. She knew better by now than to make the first move. Erica's eyes flashed as she circled, forcing Cassie to turn. She kept her distance. Cassie took up the circling. Turning in place would only make her dizzy. They walked a circle together, waiting for the moment to strike. Erica's fangs showed behind her smiling lips, and she tensed and relaxed her clawed fingers in anticipation. Her eyes glowed a steady gold.

Then she dropped everything with a groan. "You're still fighting it," she said, exasperated. "It's part of you now. You can't change that."

Cassie hated when Erica brought it up in front of the boys. Of course she was fighting it. She was a _spider._ Erica and the boys got to be wolves. It was easy for them to like who they were, what they were. They weren't bug-eating, creepy, crawling arachnids.

"I never asked for it," she said at last. Even though her voice was soft, she knew the others would hear. Cassie wrapper her arms around herself.

Erica stalked forward and grabbed Cassie by the chin, forcing her to meet her eyes. "We can't change what happened, but we can choose to face it and be strong." She looked Cassie in the eyes until she nodded. "Also," She pressed a claw to Cassie's neck hard enough to draw blood. "You're dead. Not all fights are about strength and speed."

"That was a cheap trick," Cassie spat as Erica backed away.  
"And it only works if you let it." She spread her arms and smirked. "Now, let's go again, and this time I want to see those pretty purple eyes." Her own eyes glowed gold.

**~.x.~**

The Stilinski house was often empty. The father had work and errands, and the son had school and werewolves. Mina thanked her luck that the fae had chosen someone so easy as she and her brother slipped in by the back door. No one would be home for hours yet. Stiles would be free first, and he had as good a chance of being with the pack as of coming home.

Mina fiddled with the sage charm Chase had given her to wear around her neck. "Are you sure these will work?" She whispered. If the wolves caught hint of their scent after siding with the spider girl and chasing them from town... Well, dying would spoil her plans a little.

"They won't know," Chase assured her. He moved past her into the house and began opening doors, looking for Stiles' room.

"What sort of talisman are we looking for?" Mina asked as she joined her brother. The house had a lived in feel without being dirty. She had expected more of a mess from two guys who were rarely home to clean.

"I have no idea. Something out of place, something affected by magic." He clearly could have gone on, but they found a room with band and anime posters on the wall. It clearly belonged to a teenage boy, and Stiles was the only one in the house. The only things in the room that might not have fit were stacks of old texts and a pretty red flower. "I'll start on the left," Chase said, turning to his sister. "You take the right."

"No need." Mina sighed. Chase was a genius, but he could be so dense sometimes. "It's the flower."

Chase turned back to the room and scanned it slowly until his eyes landed on the flower. "Oh." he stepped forward. "It's an azalea."

Mina rolled her eyes, remembering Jenneva's lectures about Pentanthera's name and a million possible meanings.

"It's in a black vase." His tone said that should have been important, but Mina must have forgotten that part of the lectures.

"Why does that matter?" She wasn't sure she cared, but if Chase thought it was important, she would rather know.

"Azaleas in a black vase were supposed to be a death threat." He held his hand a few inches from the vase.

"So she's going to kill him?" Mina asked. "I thought she liked him."

Chase reached forward and touched a finger to the vase. "I don't know. It's just what I thought of." Nothing happened when he touched it, and Chase wrapped his hand around it.

"It doesn't matter if she kills him. It's the fae we want," Mina reminded Chase before he got ideas about protecting the boy.

"I know. I said it's just what I thought of." He stared at the flower and vase in his hand. "This won't work."

"What do you mean?"

"It's enchanted. We won't be able to take it." He opened his hand and the vase disappeared. Mina turned wide-eyed to find it, but the vase had reappeared right where her brother lifted it from.

"Well," she began, working out her plan. "We'll just have to take Stiles instead."


	7. No Wolves in California

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I began this fic in part because Nicole told me I should and because I realized that, if everything went according to plan, I would own a house before I saw season three of Teen Wolf. It was too much time.
> 
> So I'm posting this chapter from the computer room in MY HOUSE OMG, and, yup, all we've got are teasers and a trailer for season 3.
> 
> Also if I'm unrelated author's notesing, I might as well go all the way: I'm drinking peppermint tea and this is one of my favorite chapter titles in the whole fic, assuming I don't think of something way better than my current options for the rest of them. I say 'one of' because chapter 8 is also fantastic.

Lydia Martin was not one to throw temper tantrums when things didn't go her way, but she had to keep reminding herself of that to stop from hurling her laptop against the wall. She placed her palms flat against her desk, pointedly looked away from the beastiary files on her screen, and took one long breath before reapplying a winning smile no one was there to see and returning to her work.

The section on unicorns consisted wholly of a picture of a goat with a horn that might have impressed a teenage boy and the caption, "Myth." Whatever Argent compiled the beastiary had not believed in unicorns. Jackson had seen _something_ though _,_ and even if he hesitated to call it a unicorn, he could not deny the horn itself. Lydia allowed herself a laugh. Jackson didn't just hesitate to call it a unicorn. He backed away from it like a scared little boy afraid to admit he liked Sailor Moon because it was 'for girls.'

Since discovering the uselessness of the unicorn page, Lydia had been skimming through the rest of the beastiary looking for anything related to horns or dimensions. So far she had discovered some interesting theories on narwhals and spiders, but nothing that fit what the Hales had offered up to explain Jackson's sighting. The laptop screen was giving her a headache. Lydia settled her jaw against her fist and continued scrolling through pages and pages of absolutely nothing she needed.

**~.x.~**

One day, Stiles swore, Harris would pay. He would pay dearly. He would regret everything he had ever done to Stiles, and he would never hold Stiles late for detention again. Apparently there were laws about how late a teacher could hold students after school, and it was definitely illegal to leave them there unsupervised like he had for the group detention when the library was ruined. Stiles just needed proof, his dad, and maybe Jackson's dad if he didn't still hate Stiles for the kidnapping and locking up his son thing.

Stiles grabbed his bag from the passenger seat and leapt out of his Jeep. He barely had time to get dinner started before his father left work so he could act offended if he showed up with hamburgers or pizza. Stiles wanted a cheeseburger after the detention he'd been through. And a huge mound of curly fries and ketchup. His father's health came first though, especially with all the stress he'd been under from work.

His keys jangled as Stiles unlocked the door. The noise always made him think of people dropping their keys in horror movies. Stiles rolled his eyes at scripted clumsiness and shoved open the door, stumbling slightly over the threshold. He caught himself against the wall and looked around ready to pretend he'd meant to do that, but he was alone. Stiles felt like an idiot. He adjusted his bag strap on his shoulder and headed for the kitchen.

The back door was unlocked. It hadn't been when he left, and his father never forgot to lock up.

For a brief, very stupid moment, Stiles considered calling out for one of the many werewolves who could have hopped in through his bedroom window. That was locked too though, and Stiles had already made too much noise at the front door. Stiles set his bag against the floor as softly as he could manage, flinching at the clank of zipper against tile. He sidestepped toward the counter. Inside the first drawer, far in the back where his father wouldn't find it, was a bag of powdered wolfsbane Stiles had learned to keep ready. On top of the counter was a set of kitchen knives they'd had since before his mother died. Stiles slid a long, smooth-edged one out of the wooden holder and settled it in his right hand. He hoped it made him look threatening enough not to have to use it.

The house was quiet. Stiles crept forward in the dark, too afraid to turn on the lights. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow, and each time he was certain the next one would contain some sort of evil beast or off-the-deep-end hunter. Part of Stiles would even welcome a regular burglar because at least it wouldn't have fangs or blood ties to one of his friends.

"Stiles, thank God you're here!" The voice shocked Stiles so much he yelped and nearly dropped the knife on his foot. Mina Mortimer burst through his bedroom door as she called to him.

"What are you doing here?" She and her brother were supposed to be long gone, and Stiles wanted nothing to do with them.

"We need your help." Her tone was so pleading that Stiles recognized it for an act and raised his knife again. Mina had needed their help before, and she had demanded it and threatened them.

"Get out," he growled from behind his weapon even though he knew Mina had enough martial arts training to make any threat from him laughable.

"But we never got what we came for last time." She sidestepped as she spoke, and her brother Chase came out of Stiles' room behind her. He tossed a handful of dust in Stiles' face. Stiles lost hold of both knife and wolfsbane as a coughing fit took him. He doubled over as his vision went black.

**~.x.~**

The Jeep was in the driveway already when Sheriff Stilinski got home. He gazed with longing at the cheeseburgers in his passenger seat and wondered if Stiles was feeling health-conscious tonight. At second glance, he realized none of the lights in the house were on. Stiles usually turned on the lights of every room he passed through and refused to turn any off. They'd had quite a few talks about the electricity bill, which typically ended with Stiles saying at least he hadn't gotten caught at another gay club crime scene.

Stilinski hadn't become sheriff by accident. He knew when something was off. He checked his sidearm and left the fast food in his car as he crept toward the house. The front door was locked. He turned his key and pushed the door open as quietly as possible. The house was quiet. Stilinski imagined his footsteps and heartbeat echoed through the emptiness. He prayed his son would hear it and try to lecture him on his health again, as if a teenage kid knew best how to care for a middle-aged body. There was no sign of Stiles.

Stilinski reached the kitchen. His son's bag lay on the tiles by the entrance. He paused, hand on his gun, and studied the kitchen. The dishwasher end-of-cycle light was on. A drawer was ajar. A knife was missing from the set Stiles' namesake had given the Stilinskis as a wedding gift. The back door was closed but unlocked. Nothing moved in the kitchen, so Stilinski sidestepped toward the door and slid the latch to lock it.

Past the kitchen and down the hall, he found the missing knife. Fine dust covered the carpet. The knife was clean except for the dust, so it had not been used. Or had been cleaned and planted, but why the dust? He found another packet of dust, purple this time, on the floor against the baseboard. Stilinski made sure not to touch anything. If something had happened, someone further from Stiles would have to head the case. Whoever it was would have their best chance if he didn't change anything.

He pulled back from that thought so violently he couldn't stand to look at the knife or dusts any longer. Stilinski pushed forward into his son's room. It looked as it always had. Cluttered, not messy, a little confusing. The window was locked for once. He entered the room to check the closet and found nothing there either.

The next room was the bathroom. Stiles' clothes from the night before were still there. The medicine cabinet was open. The shower curtain was closed. He stepped forward and pushed the curtain aside, but the shower was empty too. The rest of the house proved just as empty. Stilinski stared at his cell phone. It was too soon to report Stiles missing, but he was sheriff. They would believe him. He called Scott McCall first. Maybe they were together. Maybe he scared Stiles with a prank and then they went out for pizza.

"Hello?" Scott answered.

"Have you seen Stiles?" Stilinski forced himself to take a deep breathing after hearing how panicked his voice sounded.

"Not since school." He paused. "Is something wrong?"

Stilinski wanted to scream, 'Yes, my son is missing,' and he wanted to say, 'No, don't worry. You're just a kid.' He didn't have time to debate. "I can't find him, but his car is here."

"I'll ask around. Maybe he's with—Anyway, I'll ask." If he'd had time, Stilinski would drill Scott over who he shouldn't know his son could be with. For now he thanked him and, after taking a long, shuddering breath, called the station to report Stiles as missing.

**~.x.~**

"How long are we supposed to keep him here?" It was Chase's voice, lowered to a whisper. After hearing it, Stiles realized he was conscious, and that he must have been unconscious before that. He kept his eyes closed.

"As long as it takes," Mina answered. "We feed and water him, and he stays alive long enough for the fae to visit him."

"What do we do with him after?"

The silence stretched until Stiles thought he would burst. "So long as he's not a danger, we can let him go." Stiles let out the breath he'd been holding. Mina chuckled. "Liked that answer, did you, Sleeping Beauty."

Stiles opened one eye to find both Mortimers looking straight at him. Mina wore a smirk, but Chase just looked annoyed. Stiles sat up. Or he tried to sit up, realized he was tied up, and began wriggling on the ground like a worm. It reminded him way too much of being tied up in Cassie the werespider's web.

Mina laughed again. "Calm down, kid. We need you alive, not strangled by your own panic."

"I'm not panicking. I'm trying to escape. Trust me, you'll know when I start panicking. It's unpleasant and extremely loud, usually shortly followed by a pack of werewolves bursting in through a thin wall or large window. Maybe a door if there's nothing cool enough to break."

"I forgot you thought you were funny," Mina said.

"I didn't," Chase grumbled. "I tried though."

"Guys, if you let me go now, I'll just say I went for a long walk. No one has to know you broke into my home and abducted me." Stiles tried for a winning smile, but by the Mortimers' expressions, it came out as more of a losing-but-trying-to-pretend-it's-winning grimace. He wondered how it could be so easy to fake a smile sometimes but so hard others.

**~.x.~**

Scott burst in on Derek, shouting incoherently, to find the alpha sitting in a chair with a book and an annoyed expression on his face. Beside him, Isaac looked up from a textbook with interest. "Stiles is missing!" Scott had tried to say that with his first yell, but it came out as gibberish then. The second try worked better.

Derek and Isaac both dropped their books and leapt to their feet. "Any clues?" Derek demanded as Isaac asked, "How long?"

"I-I don't know." He'd run here as soon as Stiles' dad ended the call. He should have driven. Or just called. He had wasted time coming here when he could have begun searching for Stiles already. Instinct had taken over in the face of his panic and carried him here.

"Have you been to his house?" Derek asked. Scott shook his head. "We'll go there. Maybe he left a scent trail. Isaac, start calling the others. Send Erica and Cassie to the school. Ask Allison if the hunters know anything. Have the others start combing the town and woods. Call me if you find anything out." He ushered Scott toward the door as he spoke, glancing back just long enough for Isaac to nod his assent.

"You'll help?" Scott asked as he climbed into Derek's car. He didn't expect Derek to care, didn't understand why he'd come to Derek in the first place.

"Of course I will. He's pack." Derek growled, starting the car and taking off toward the Stilinski house.

Scott tried not to give away that he still didn't consider Derek his alpha. It could hurt Stiles if Derek knew how loosely they were knit to his pack. Maybe someday they wouldn't need Derek anymore, but for now Scott was grateful to have him. He may not have been good at it, but he could still get their loosely-knit pack active enough to find Stiles.

The Camaro slammed to a stop down the street from Stiles' house. "Go without me. No one will think it's weird if his best friend shows up. I'm a little more suspicious." As soon as Scott was out of the car, Derek sped off.

Scott ran the rest of the way to Stiles' house. Patrol cars blocked off the driveway, and Scott thought it'd be best if he wasn't caught even if he was Stiles' friend. He ran between two houses and leapt to the roofs when he was sure no one was looking. As soon as he reached Stiles' house, he stopped.

There was no scent.

Scott climbed down and moved slowly through the space between Stiles' house and the next. Midway through, he could smell the other house, but when he stepped back again, nothing. It had to be some kind of spell to hide their scent. He bent his nose to the ground and found the space where the spell ended. There was a light greyish dust on the ground. A thin line of the dust continued away from Scott's nose in either direction. He pressed a finger forward along the ground and broke the line.

Scent returned, but none of it had the transparency of past scents. It was immediate and fresh, and Stiles' fathers' scent was coming from right behind Scott. He turned his head slowly, trying to look innocent.

"Hi, uh, Sheriff Stilinski. You have... dirt."

He sighed. "Scott, go home. I'll have Stiles call you if he shows up. And don't mess with weird stuff at what could be a crime scene." He gestured to where Scott had broken the dust line.

"Sorry. I just... I'm worried about him." Scott scrambled to his feet and brushed his hands off on his jeans.

"Worry about him at home. Now, go before anyone else sees you and decides to ask you a few questions." He waved Scott away and turned back to the house.

Scott hid himself again, but he circled the house, looking for where Stiles' scent trail would have left the scentless circle. All the trails were too old though, none from tonight. Maybe whoever blocked scent from the house blocked the trail too. Scott growled and left the house. He thought he was supposed to meet Derek again, but he didn't care anymore. Derek's plan had failed, just like Derek's plans always did. Scott would just have to find Stiles himself.

He loped through both the town and the woods, searching desperately for any fresh hint of Stiles' scent. The most recent was at the school, but he smelled that Erica and Cassie had already been and gone, meaning there was nothing to find there. Eventually he found himself back in the woods, staring at the cave Cassie had built her nest in. Stiles got lost there too, once. And he had run out and straight into Derek with a fae at his heels.

Scott thought it hilarious at the time, but now he remembered all of Derek's warnings about faeries. What if Derek was right? What if she'd come back and taken Stiles? Scott howled in frustration. When the others answered with their own howls, Scott realized he hadn't expected it. He still wasn't used to being in a wolf pack.

Something moved in the cave, maybe drawn by the sound of Scott's howl. It stepped into the night, and Scott saw it was a wolf. He remembered Stiles telling him there were no wolves in California, but maybe this one was a special case. It had a single horn sprouting from its forehead.


	8. The Unicorns Got Scott

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nicole gets full credit for the title of this chapter. She determined I would call it nothing else and made it so.

Derek returned to the cave every day. Everyone agreed Scott's howl had come from there, but no one found any sign of what happened. Even the scent trail just stopped, like he'd disappeared into thin air. The pack disagreed even on whether Scott's disappearance was related to Stiles'. At first Derek thought the fae had come for Stiles, but she never showed an interest in Scott.

The flower remained in Stiles' room after he disappeared, but the fae would have no use for the flower if she'd come back. It was gone _now_ , and Derek thought that was because Stiles had been gone from his room long enough for it to follow. He stalked back and forth across the mouth of the cave. He'd already searched inside, already searched the surrounding woods.

Others had gone missing too: a high school junior, a realtor, a janitor, and the homeless guy who spoke nonsense and called it French to make people think he was crazy. This was something bigger. Or it was two things. Or more things. Derek shook his head violently. Coincidences were lies people told themselves to feel better. These were connected. He just had to figure out how, and then figure out how knowing could help him get his pack mates back.

The others expected him to fail. They had thought Scott could get Stiles back, but without him... Derek snarled. The others looked at a teenager as more of an alpha than they did Derek. It was only a matter of time before Scott challenged him, and the others would help. They would gang up on Derek so Scott could knock him down and take on the powers of the alpha.

He was getting paranoid. Derek clenched his hands into fists and focused. The missing persons. Most had been in the woods, hiking, birding, or looking for Stiles. Only Stiles had been taken from in town, from his own house. All of their scents had been erased somehow. Most of them reached into the woods and suddenly stopped. Stiles' entire house had been scent-cleansed so only post-kidnapping scents remained.

Missing persons topped Peter's list of unicorn effects. Peter speculated that people fell through small rifts formed when the too-close dimensions collided, but what if the unicorns actually kidnapped them? Derek needed to figure out what they were. Usually he'd go to Stiles for information, but Stiles hadn't found anything. And Stiles was gone.

The space between Derek's shoulder blades itched. He twitched his back and turned to look behind him. He didn't smell anything there, but that didn't count for much these days. In the woods, hiding inside a bush, was a little girl. She had a green dress and a horn growing from her forehead. Her form shimmered like it lived part in this world and part in another.

Derek turned and ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction. Unicorn horn meant dimensional drift, no matter what it was attached to. He did not want to get caught—

He spun to look behind him but saw nothing. He'd moved out of range already. No scent, a horn, not a horse, dimensional rifts that could catch people. Derek knew where Scott had gone. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Lydia.

"What do you want now, Derek. I'm busy." Lydia sounded pissed, but she had answered.

"Scott. The unicorns got him. We have to find out how to get to them without being sucked in too." He paused. "I saw one. It looked human except for the horn." He hung up before she could argue and dialed Cassie.

"Derek?" Cassie sounded confused; he'd never called her directly before.

"I need you to learn about crossing dimensions." He turned and continued walking as he spoke. No reason to risk the unicorns catching up.

"How do you expect me to do that?" She huffed. Mention of anything she could do that a werewolf couldn't always upset her.

"I don't know. Books. The internet. Experiments. Figure something out." Derek was sick of dealing with teenagers. They wasted so much effort on trying to understand what's and why's that they kept missing simple how's. Cassie was a werespider. Her instincts would guide her if she stopped fighting them.

"Easy for you to say," she hissed and hung up.

Derek would deal with his pack. He had to. This was the first theory he'd had since Stiles and Scott went missing.

**~.x.~**

Stiles glared at the wall even though it hadn't done anything to offend him. It was the Mortimer siblings Stiles wanted to melt into colorful puddles of goo using only the heat of his rage and maybe eye-lasers. If he babbled until Mina and Chase went crazy, they refused him water until he was too parched to speak. If he tapped his feet, fingers, or head to annoy them, they bound him more tightly. If he tried to use magic, nothing happened at all. Chase had told him smugly that Stiles owed his powerlessness to the silver bracelet on his wrist. Mina had rolled her eyes and muttered, "Boys." So, Stiles had finally resorted to pretending the Mortimers didn't exist and that he simply lay on the ground in a cave in the middle of nowhere because his own rage and inner turmoil demanded it. Mina kept snorting at him.

Something crashed. Stiles shouted and jerked himself around as best he could toward the source of the sound. The black vase lay on the ground in pieces. It didn't repair itself. The azalea's petals had withered and dried out. The stem shriveled at the end, and there was much less than the two feet of it he had seen in his bedroom with Derek. The spider crawled from the stem to spin a web across the ceramic sherds and dead flower. When the web was complete, another spider crawled out through its center. It crawled toward Stiles and stopped less than an inch from where his cheek touched the ground.

"Chase," Mina shouted. "Chase, get ready. She's coming."

Chase ran into the cave and dug through his pack until he pulled out a choker and bracelet that matched the one on Stiles' wrist. Stiles wondered how they expected to trap a fae. Mina drew a glass dagger and stood to block the exit as Chase took position further back in the cave.

A hand reached through the spider web, pushing against the edges of the innermost circle until the hole stretched wide enough for Thera to rise through. She reached back into the hole after her. When her hand exited again, another hand gripped hers. She pulled a boy a few years younger than Stiles out of the web. He had her dark skin and curly hair, but, while his eyes were blue, the shape was off from Thera's, as was that of his wide smile.

Thera turned from the boy Stiles had already decided must be her family and found Stiles on the floor. "Oh, dear!" She hurried over to him. "You're always in trouble, aren't you?" With a touch of her hand, she unraveled the rope, but Chase had come up behind her while she focused on Stiles. He snapped the silver ring around her neck, and when her hands shot up to pull at it, he snapped the bracelet around her wrist too. Thera shrieked, but there were no words.

"Let her go!" the boy screamed. He beat at Chase with his fists, pushing him backward toward the stone wall.

Mina leapt at the boy, slashing with her glass knife.

"Daemyn, no!" Thera screamed. Stiles didn't know what the weapon was, but Thera clearly thought it could hurt the boy. "Stiles, please," she begged, "Take my son and go. Save him." Tears streamed down her face. "Daemyn, go with Stiles."

"But Mother—"

"Go!" She shrieked as she lunged at Mina.

Stiles grabbed Daemyn by the wrist and tugged him out of the cave. "Come on. Before Chase gets back up."

"I could take them," Daemyn muttered, yanking his wrist away from Stiles.

"If you want to stay, be my guest. But I'm getting out of here." Stiles didn't owe Thera anything after what she'd done to him. He almost hoped the boy decided to stay back. But with a last glance into the cave, Daemyn took Stiles' hand and nodded his head. Stiles took a step forward, and when his foot landed, they were in Beacon Hills. He screamed and fell to the ground. "Warn a guy," he shouted at Daemyn, who just shrugged. Stiles climbed back to his feet, giving Daemyn a dirty look so he'd know it was his fault Stiles was in the street. "Come on. I need to let everyone know I'm back before they get too worked up."

Daemyn gave Stiles a look like he doubted anyone would get worked up over losing him, but since he didn't say anything, Stiles ignored it. Mina had taken his cell phone, but this looked like Jackson's neighborhood. He turned in the direction he thought would take him to Jackson's house, and Jackson's phone, and maybe a ride in Jackson's car because he did not feel like walking or fae-teleporting back to his house.

**~.x.~**

The door bell rang, and Jackson willed it to stop and whoever was at the door to go away. He rolled over in bed and covered his head with a pillow. His heightened senses heard past it just fine, so when Stiles' voice called his name, Jackson shot up from his bed and realized he could smell Stiles too. After all the searching they'd done, actually smelling Stiles was a relief. There was another scent too. Something in it reminded Jackson of Thera.

Jackson pulled on a pair of jeans and made his way to the entrance. He arranged his face for the perfect balance of annoyed and superior before opening the door. As soon as it was open, Stiles barreled past him into the house.

"Dude, I need your phone." Stiles held out his hand like he expected Jackson to hand it over.

"Why are you at my house? And who is that?" He jutted his thumb at the kid outside. He looked like Thera even more than he smelled like her.

"It was closest. He's Thera's son. Name is Daemyn." He stared at Jackson like that should have been enough. "Phone?"

Jackson rolled his eyes but motioned for Stiles to follow as he led the way to where he'd left his cell phone. "You should know, Scott went missing looking for you. Derek thinks it was unicorns. I think he's finally losing it."

"I thought you were the first one to see a unicorn though?" Stiles sounded ready to laugh at Jackson. Daemyn definitely snorted under his breath from his spot of relative safety behind Stiles.

Jackson scowled at them both. "I didn't know Thera had a son."

Stiles shrugged and urged Jackson on. "We didn't know a lot of things about Thera."

His eyes twitched every time either of them said her name, and Jackson wondered how no one else noticed. Then again, if the entire pack could miss a tiny hurricane because they were too busy gossiping, Jackson doubted he could really be surprised when they missed actual subtlety. They reached Jackson's bedroom, and he waved a hand at the phone on his desk. Stiles picked it up, hesitated.

"Forgot the number?" Jackson asked, raising one eyebrow and lowering the other.

"I don't know what to tell my dad." He looked at Jackson like he expected an answer.

"You can't just tell him the truth?" Daemyn crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. He clearly thought he was being cool, cutting to the truth.

"My dad doesn't know about werewolves and faeries and stuff." Stiles started the sentence at normal speed and slowed as he went until he lingered painfully on the last word.

Jackson sighed and shook his head. "Just tell him you don't remember. It worked for Lydia."

"Lydia actually didn't remember," Stiles pointed out with his finger shoved towards Jackson's face.

"So you have a template on how to behave after exiting a fugue state. Or maybe your kidnapping was so traumatic you blocked it from memory." Jackson crossed his arms. "Just get on with it so you can get out of my house."

"Or maybe tell him about 'werewolves and faeries and stuff' now." Daemyn was shaping up to be a bit of a brat. He had a stupid smirk on his face like he thought his smartass comment counted as a victory.

"It's not as simple as that, so just back off." Stiles scowled. He licked his lips and glanced at both Jackson and Daemyn. Whatever he was thinking, he kept to himself and finally made the call instead. "Hey, Dad. It's me. I'm on Jackson's phone."

Jackson heard Stiles' father through the phone. "Oh my God, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"What happened? Where were you? I..." He paused. When he took a breath to continue, Stiles spoke instead.

"I don't remember. I know I was going home to make dinner after detention, and then... I don't know. I found myself in town near Jackson's house, so I walked here and asked to use his phone." Jackson listened to the way Stiles' heartbeat changed on the parts that were lies.

"Okay, okay, just stay there. I'm coming to get you." Jackson heard clattering keys and a slamming door over the phone connection. "Just stay there. I'll be right over. I love you, Son."

"Love you too, Dad." He hung up and stared at the phone with his mouth hanging open like an idiot.

Jackson looked from Stiles' stupid open mouth to Daemyn's stupid smirking mouth, and they had the same lips. Above them were the same eyes only in different colors, and the cheekbones were only a tiny bit off. When he watched the way Stiles manipulated the water in that bottle at the lunch table as they talked about Thera, Jackson had known she did something to him, something that could turn the goofy idiot into something dangerous. But Jackson hadn't realized...

By the way Daemyn kept glaring at Stiles, he knew. Maybe he had known for a long time. Maybe Thera brought him back now to meet Stiles, and Daemyn had just realized he came all this way for, well, _Stiles._ Stiles focused on the connection to his father. He kept staring at the phone and didn't spare a glance for Daemyn. He didn't know the kid was his son. Jackson wondered if he was supposed to say something, but he did not want to deal with the drama of that. The doorbell saved him.

He walked Stiles and Daemyn—great, now he was thinking about leading Daemyn to meet his grandfather—to the door. Stiles threw it open before Jackson could and leapt into his father's arms. They blubbered for too long. Daemyn tried to exchange superior and exasperated glances with Jackson, but he ignored them. Stiles and his father left without Daemyn, who stared after them open-mouthed like he'd been slapped in the face with a fish and didn't know how to respond.

"You know," Jackson said, "Stiles hates your mother. You shouldn't really expect him to want you around."

"Where am I supposed to go then?" He said it exactly like the entitled thirteen-year-old he was.

"I don't care. I never liked your mother either." He held his hand out toward the door. Daemyn stared at him dumbfounded. Then he looked Jackson in the eyes, scowled and stormed out the door, stomping his feet as loudly as he could without it being too obvious. Jackson slammed the door as soon as Daemyn crossed the threshold. This was not his problem.


	9. Scrambled

After his father got him home and filled with canned soup and worried at enough that Stiles started calling him Grandma, Stiles realized what Jackson had told him. Scott went missing. Looking for Stiles. _Scott_ went _missing_. He raced back out to the landline and dialed Derek's number.

"Who is this?" Derek answered.

"Stiles."

There was silence. Then, "You're back." Derek definitely had a way with words.

"Yeah, I... Jackson told me Scott was missing too."

"You spoke to Jackson?" His voice deepened with anger.

"Yeah," Stiles nodded even though Derek couldn't see. "I was at his house. He didn't call you?"

"No." Stiles heard the not-quite-static of a phone being muffled, and behind it Derek telling Isaac to let everyone know Stiles was back. "Where are you? Are you safe?"

"I'm home. I'm fine. Tell me about Scott." He wondered if werewolves could hear lies over the phone.

"He went into the woods alone looking for you. He howled once from near the spider cave, but we never found him. A few days later, I saw a unicorn in the area. I think he's with them." Again with the completely serious unicorns. Stiles caught himself smiling and wiped it off his face, reminding himself that his best friend was missing.

"What did it look like?"

"Like..." Derek lowered his voice. "Like a human child with a silver horn in the middle of her forehead."

Stiles wondered if knowing that could help his search. He'd never found anything useful on unicorns before the Mortimers took him. "And you think they got him?" He pictured a group of little girls surrounding Scott while Derek stood in the background exclaiming over how dangerous they were.

"When I saw her, I ran from the dimensional rift she's supposed to signal. If I hadn't, I may have been pulled into wherever the rest of the unicorns were. I think that's what happened to Scott." He stopped and muffled the phone again to argue with Isaac. Stiles could only hear every few words this time. "We want to post a guard on your house just in case. Don't argue. You were recently kidnapped."

Stiles sighed and made sure it was loud enough to carry through the phone. "Fine. Who's first?"

"I'll be there in ten minutes." He hung up.

Stiles stared at the receiver for too long before hanging up and trudging back to his room. Out of habit, he looked for the flower, but it was gone now, smashed against the ground of the Mortimers' cave. He flipped the window latch and then dropped face-down across his soft, comfortable, glorious bed.

Something shook his shoulder. "Stiles."

"Huh?" Stiles lifted his head. His cheek was cold, and when he wiped it with his hand, he realized it had been wet too. He must have fallen asleep waiting for Derek... and drooled all over his covers. Stiles made a face at the shiny little puddle he found when he looked down at his bed. He turned his head to find Derek watching him. "What?"

Derek shrugged.

"You woke me up to shrug at me?"

"You were lying really weird." He motioned at the bed. "And the drool was starting to spread."

Stiles adjusted himself and climbed under the covers. "Better?" He asked. When Derek didn't respond, he said, "Can't you guard from outside the house?"

"People might notice me sitting on your roof all night."

"All night? That doesn't seem... excessive?" Stiles tried not to picture Derek watching him sleep all night long because it was creepy.

"Isaac thinks we can work out a high school friend sleepover schedule later."

"I've only ever stayed over at Scott's house, and he's..." Stiles closed his eyes, focused on his breathing, and opened his eyes again when he knew he was calm. "How long has he been missing?"

"He disappeared the same night you did." Derek hesitated visibly before reaching a hand out to Stiles' shoulder. "Scott's strong. He'll be okay." He pulled his hand away. "Who was it?"

"Who?"

"Your kidnapper."

"Mina and Chase." Stiles scowled. "They took me as fae bait. Once Thera showed up, I got away with Daemyn, who—oh God, I left him with Jackson."

"Who?" This time Derek asked.

"Daemyn. Thera's son. I... completely forgot he existed even though we got away together. Now I feel like a jerk." He let his head fall back against his pillows.

"Don't. If he's her son, then he's fae too. Fae are bad news." Derek scowled at the idea of fae in the absence of actual ones.

"Is that why you hate my mom?" Daemyn stood now where the room had been empty moments before. "Because your boyfriend's feeding you that anti-fae crap?"

"He's not my boyfriend."

"I'm not his boyfriend."

"And your mom worked hard to _earn_ my hatred. Derek didn't need to help." Stiles stared Daemyn down, daring him to defend Thera.

"She helped you escape." It seemed he accepted the challenge. "We need to get her out now too." And raised the stakes.

Stiles laughed. "Why would I help her?"

"I _just said_ she helped you first. You owe her." He stepped forward, as if being closer to Stiles would make him more convincing.

"Believe me, the things I owe her, she does not want to collect." Stiles hadn't expected his voice to be so menacing. "You can save her yourself." He remembered the silver bracelet and held his wrist out to Derek. "Take that off for me," he said, and Derek undid the clasp. Stiles took it from him and tossed it to Daemyn. "Get that on the man's wrist and he won't be able to use his spells against you. That's all the help you'll get from me."

Daemyn hurled the bracelet back at Stiles' head and disappeared. It bounced off his cheek and comforter and onto the floor.

"Stiles," Derek said, his voice softer than usual. "What do you owe Thera?"

"Nothing." He turned away from Derek and pulled the blankets up to his chin.

"You already know I can tell that's a lie."

"Yeah, but... I don't want to talk about it." That at least was true. Stiles rolled back over and patted the bed. "Sit here. It's less creepy."

Derek looked at him like he'd lost it. "It's _less_ creepy for me to be here if I'm in your bed?" He said it slow, like repeating the words of an idiot to make clear how stupid they were.

Stiles nodded. "From over there, it's like a hospital bed or stalker or Twilight. If you're here, it's like I invited you." He shrugged. "Or at least gave you permission."

Derek rolled his eyes but joined Stiles on the bed. "Your bed is too small for this," he grumbled, but Stiles ignored him. He rolled back over and fell asleep.

**~.x.~**

Thera warned Daemyn about his father. She admitted there was promise in him, but cruelty tainted it like black ink on pale silk. Stiles fought for his friends, but anyone who failed to make that list may as well be dead for all the help he'd give them. When Daemyn saw his image in the glass, Stiles was so young that Daemyn know if he could only meet him, he could change him, nudge him down the path to being a better person. Those were the fruitless dreams of a fatherless child. Daemyn saw now that his mother couldn't change Stiles, and neither could he. Even if Stiles clung less firmly to his darkness, the man with the angry eyes held him back.

Stiles hadn't even pretended decency. He would have left Daemyn with the humans who trapped his mother, and he refused to help her after she got captured trying to save him. Daemyn scowled into the night. Stiles had done worse than that. Even with all the gifts Thera gave him, Stiles had dared to threaten her in front of Daemyn. It may have been in vague terms, but Daemyn knew a threat when he heard one. Stiles had so much power now, all siphoned off from Thera, and he wanted to repay it with pain.

Daemyn ran back into the woods. He was not as strong as Thera and could not teleport as frequently as she did, but he refused to waste another moment before going to her. Mina and Chase had not gone far, and Daemyn could run faster than a human. He would reach their cave soon enough. For a moment, he wondered if he should have kept the bracelet from Stiles, but he had been so angry that the thought of keeping a gift from him had sickened Daemyn.

When he reached the cave, it was quiet. It would be light soon. Daemyn used what darkness remained to creep to the caves entrance. As he leaned forward to peek inside, a hand drew him back. Too late. He had already seen the corpses. When he turned, his mother was there to hold him.

"Oh, sweetling, I was so worried," she cooed, stroking her hand through his hair.

"You were right." Now that he was finally safe with his mother, Daemyn's defenses collapsed. Tears poured down his face as he said, "He was horrible. He left me behind with some jerk and then said he wouldn't save you. He..." Daemyn hiccupped. "He wants to hurt you."

Thera raised her son's chin with a finger to look him in the eyes. "I know, Daemyn. I know. If I could have spared you this pain..." She turned away, tears evident in her own eyes. "I can't take back the gifts I gave him," she said at last, "But you can."

"Me?" Daemyn stared wide-eyed into his mother's face.

Thera nodded. "You." She smiled and held Daemyn close. "You can make it right, but only if you're sure." Daemyn squeezed his mother closer, taking comfort in her warmth.

**~.x.~**

It was warm. Stiles snuggled into the warmth, but whatever his face rested against was coarse, and he wound up sliding his cheek through a trail of saliva. He jerked away from it because he'd been looking for warm, and that was cold. When he tried to glare at the spot of drool, he froze in panic instead because he was staring at Derek's lap. His eyes darted to Derek's face, but he was asleep with his head leaning against the shelves above Stiles' bed. Maybe if Stiles pretended nothing had happened, Derek would never know he'd been sleeping with his head in his lap. And drooling on his pants. Honestly, Stiles needed to start sleeping with his mouth shut. He lifted the blankets to cover the wet spot on Derek's jeans and rolled over slowly. When his back was to Derek, Stiles set his head against his pillow and closed his eyes again.

He couldn't sleep now. Stiles tried not to fidget too much to avoid waking Derek before his pants dried, but he still wound up shifting around until he stared up at his ceiling. If he turned his head just a little, he could see Derek with his neck bent back, head resting against the hard edge of a shelf, and mouth hanging open as he slept. A small part of Stiles had always suspected Derek never slept unless wounded, that he faced the night with so much grump that it backed off and said, 'Hey, chill man, you can stay awake if you want to. We cool.'

Apparently Derek slept like anyone else though. He sniffed and repositioned himself with a grunt, but when he tried to drop his head back, it landed on empty air instead of the shelf. Derek fell back and smashed his head against the next shelf down before Stiles could think to stop him. The crash was loud enough that Stiles flinched and wondered if his dad had heard. Derek swore and sat up. The glare he sent Stiles clearly demanded they never speak of this.

"I thought werewolves were more graceful," Stiles said because he didn't know how to take a warning.

Derek scowled at him. "I was asleep."

"Yeah, great guarding technique there." Stiles smirked.

"When I fell asleep, you were hugging my waist and saying what a great gift I'd make for Lydia." He cocked an eyebrow. "Sharing a bed this small means I'd be woken by anything dangerous enough to threaten you."

"Such as shelving." Stiles tried to keep a straight face as he nodded to the shelves behind Derek, but he lost it.

"Stop laughing."

"Come on, Derek, give me this one thing. It was hilarious." Stiles was still chuckling even though it hadn't been quite funny enough to warrant this much mockery.

"No, your dad just woke up. Stop laughing and be quiet," Derek whispered. He slipped out of the bed and moved nearer the closet, probably ready to hide if Stiles' dad opened the door. Stiles shoved a fist in his mouth to shut himself up.

A soft knock came at the door. "You up yet, son?"

Stiles looked to Derek, who just threw his hands up to say he didn't know how Stiles should answer. "Yeah, just barely."

"Feeling up to breakfast?"

Again, Derek was no help. "Yeah, I'll be down in a few."

"Take your time. I haven't started yet." Stiles listened to his father's footsteps move down the hall before he got out of bed.

Stiles swung his feet off the bed, and when he stood, Derek was _right there._ He nearly yelped and fell back again, but Derek caught him by his shoulder.

"Are you going to school today?" Derek's voice was too low to carry down to the kitchen.

"What?"

"I need to know if we should guard your house or if you'll be at school with the others."

Stiles rolled his eyes. This guarding him thing was going to get old fast. "I'm guessing since everyone you know is either a teenager or Peter, if I stay home, you'll be here all day glaring at me?"

"I don't glare all the time," Derek said as he glared at Stiles.

"Yeah, sometimes you sleep with your mouth hanging open."

"Stiles..."

Stiles waved his hands at Derek until he backed up a step. "I need to talk to my dad first. I'll let you know after that, okay."

"So I'm supposed to just wait here?" The glare fell into something of an annoyed pout.

"Wait wherever you like. You have a cell phone." Stiles left Derek behind and stumbled out to the kitchen.

From the stove, his father turned around, probably to say good morning. Instead he wound up looking Stiles up and down and saying, "You slept in that."

Stiles shrugged. "I was too tired to change." As if his dad never slept in his clothes. Stiles scoffed, but his dad had already turned away.

His dad sighed and pointed at the table. "Sit."

"There was something I wanted to ask you," Stiles said, trying to think of a convincing way to word it. "Could I have some friends stay over for a while? At night I mean."

His father turned again and raised an eyebrow. "I know you have some reasoning planned out for me. Let's hear it."

"I don't want you to have to miss any work for me, but," He paused to wet his lips, "I was taken from the house when I was alone. I think it's—I just don't want to be alone for a while."

His father sighed. "Is that why when I checked on you last night, you were snuggled up to Derek Hale, who, in case you forgot, has been a murder suspect in multiple cases and—"

"Oh my God."

"Are you friends because I don't want you hanging out around dangerous—"

" _Oh my God."_ Stiles groaned and buried his face in his hands. "He was cleared of all charges. He's no more dangerous than Scott. Well, maybe a tiny bit more dangerous than Scott."

"He's also much older than you. It's unusual for a guy his age to spend time with teenagers, and I don't want you—"

"Oh my God, Dad."

"Stop interrupting me. I let you sleep, didn't I? And if he's still in your room, let him know he should come out for breakfast. I want to talk with him." He waved a spatula at Stiles while he spoke.

"Oh my God." Stiles groaned and planted his head firmly against the table. "Derek," he shouted, even though Derek would have heard the entire conversation.

Derek came slowly into the kitchen, and Stiles had never seen him look so scared.

"Sit," his father commanded, and Derek took the chair furthest from Stiles. The sheriff pulled the eggs he'd been scrambling off the stove and plated them beside buttered toast and bacon before saying anything else. He set three plates on the table but did not sit. Stiles began eating. Derek didn't even look at his eggs. "You," Stiles' dad shoved his finger in Derek's direction again, "Will not enter my house without my permission." He swung the finger to Stiles, "And you will only include people your own age in those sleepovers you want to make you feel safe."

Stiles nodded.

"You will also ask first before inviting Derek to this house and before visiting his." He turned to Derek. "Speaking of which, where do you live?"

Derek's mouth opened and shut again. If Stiles hadn't been included in this, he'd have thought it was hilarious.

"Well?"

Derek looked to Stiles, pleading him to think of something other than the truth.

"He's staying with Isaac Lahey," Stiles said. It was true. They lived in the abandoned train station, but they _were_ there together.

"Lahey? Really?"

Derek nodded.

"How?"

"I knew his older brother in high school," he said, and it must have been true because Stiles doubted Derek had the presence of mind to make up a convincing lie right now. "After his father... Isaac came to me because he didn't know where else to go." Derek wasn't one to hesitate over the word 'died' though. Unless maybe he'd almost said, 'was murdered by Jackson while he was the kanima.'

"You can't stay over at Isaac's house," Stiles' dad said to him.

"Dad."

"How did Derek get in last night? And don't say the door because I was out here going over files." He watched Stiles, waiting for an answer even though he clearly knew it already.

"My window." Stiles stared at his hands on the table.

"That means you were sneaking him in and hiding him from me, so you have something to hide." He looked back and forth between Stiles and Derek.

"Dad, we're not—we didn't do anything." Stiles tried to stay calm because getting worked up would only make his dad more certain something had happened, but his voice rose anyway.

"Last night, maybe not. But you can't say you haven't lied to me."

Stiles looked to Derek and wondered if, 'All my friends are werewolves,' would be explanation enough. Scott's mom had been able to help them a lot once she knew the truth, but Stiles' dad was the sheriff. If he knew about things like werewolves, he would feel it was his duty to protect Beacon Hills from monsters he didn't know how to fight. Stiles covered his face with his hands.

"Then finish your eggs," Stiles' dad replied to his silence. "And, Derek, you can go through the front door this time."

**~.x.~**

Stiles still hadn't convinced his dad he and Derek weren't secretly dating or sleeping together. His dad wouldn't say outright that he thought they were, but he still wasn't subtle. Neither were the pamphlets on safe sex and STDs that appeared on Stiles' desk while he was at school. He almost showed them to Derek just to see the look on his face. Then Stiles caught his own expression in the mirror and dropped them in the trash can.

"What're those?"

Stiles yelped at the voice because he'd been alone in his room. He turned to find Derek peering in through his window.

"You're not supposed to be here, remember?"

"I'm not inside."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "I was just about to head to your place anyway, which you already know because we spoke on the phone not five minutes ago. So what are you doing here?"

"I'm going to drive you."

"I have a car and a license and a deep, profound desire to drive myself."

"Then I'm going to ride with you."

Stiles groaned. "Look, Derek, not that I don't appreciate it, but the bodyguard thing is already old. And it's just got my father _even more_ convinced that we're dating, which is saying something considering he found us cuddling in my bed."

"So tell him we're not." He said it like the most obvious thing in the world, like he hadn't been scared speechless in the Stilinski's kitchen the other day. "And that was your idea, not mine." He shoved an accusing finger through the window at Stiles. "I'll meet you outside." He turned from the window without waiting for Stiles' answer.

At least Stiles' dad was at work right now. Stiles was pretty sure he'd bribed the neighbors though, and if they took too long, Derek's Camaro would be sitting out front waiting for him. There was no way he would convince his dad there was nothing going on unless Derek let up, and even then, he was starting to think his dad would just believe they'd broken up. Part of Stiles wished his dad was still telling him he didn't dress nice enough to be gay.

"What took so long?" Derek demanded once Stiles was through the front door.

"I was trying to think of a way to make you leave me alone."

"I'm hurt, Stiles." He didn't sound hurt. He didn't look hurt either, just a little more sassy than usual.

"Well, now I know hurting you doesn't work." He unlocked the Jeep and climbed in.

Derek slid into the passenger seat. "Who is staying at your place tonight?" he asked, as if he didn't already know.

"Allison was going to, but her dad called her home for emergency hunter things." Stiles backed the Jeep out of the driveway more aggressively than was necessary. He just wanted a few minutes to himself. Was that so much to ask? He could sleep one night without a guard.

"Yeah, but who is her backup?" When Stiles sent him a glare instead of answering, Derek added, "Well?"

"You are being such an ass right now."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Who's staying over tonight?"

"No one."

"Someone has to."

"No one's going to."

"If no one else does, you know I will."

"Such an ass."

Derek didn't respond, and when Stiles glanced away from the road, he found him sitting there staring at him with his eyebrows raised.

"My dad won't let you in the house."

"Your dad can't stop me."

"Really? Because last I checked, he stopped you just fine with nothing but a spatula and a plate of eggs."

The look on Derek's face was a perfect mix of fear, shame, and embarrassment. "I won't let him catch me again."

"You say that like you could have stopped him the first time." Stiles hoped his tone made it clear he doubted Derek could have managed that.

"I'll be more careful."

"You'll watch me sleep more intently, you mean? Like a good creeper."

"I'm not a creeper." Derek growled. Stiles hadn't expected to hit a sore spot with that.

"Fine. Protector. And you can _protect_ me tonight. Happy?" He pulled up outside the old train station. "So what was the point of me coming over?"

"I wanted to make sure you weren't alone tonight."

Stiles gave him as flat a stare as he could manage. "You just did that."

"I thought it would take longer," Derek said with a shrug. "We've got food and soda if you want to stay anyway."

Stiles groaned and got out of the car. "Any word on Scott?" he asked because the least he could do was turn this useless trip toward helping his friend.

"Not unless you've figured the unicorns out without telling me."

"Seriously. Such. An. Ass."

"I didn't do anything."

"You could have just said we didn't have anything new. You could have just asked to stay at my place instead of luring me out here like some kind of serial killer. You could have stayed with Scott instead of letting him get captured while looking for me." His voice climbed as he continued.

"You think I wanted this to happen?" Derek's cool dropped. He stalked over to Stiles to shout in his face. "You think I don't regret letting Scott go on his own? Trust me, Stiles, there are a lot of things I'd change if I could. But I can't. I just have to deal with what I can now."

"I didn't mean you did it on purpose." The fight fell out of Stiles' voice and left it sullen but quiet. "Just things go wrong when you're involved. Kind of a lot."

"You think I don't know that?" Even though he wasn't yelling anymore, he sounded angrier and darker than before.

"I think that's why you're overdoing the protecting me thing."

"If it keeps you safe, it's not overdone."

Stiles wasn't sure what to say to that. "You're too hard on yourself," he settled on eventually.

Derek scowled. "Weren't you just telling me I fail at everything I do?"

"Yeah, but you're not supposed to agree. You're supposed to threaten me, probably with your scary werewolf teeth." Stiles used his fingers to mime fangs.

Derek just looked at him like he was crazy.

"What?"

Derek narrowed his eyes.

" _What_?"

Derek arched an eyebrow and raised his hands in imitation of Stiles.

"Whatever. Give me this promised food."

Derek rolled his eyes, but Stiles thought he caught a hint of a smile too. Real or not, Stiles answered the smile with a grin and sauntered into the old train station with Derek in tow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last scene has actually not been beta'd, so if you spot something wrong, that's why. ._. I tried to write Sterek bonding, and this is what came out, so... this is where I shrug.


	10. With Great Power

Coming home had been bittersweet with Scott missing, especially since no one knew how to save him, but Lydia had called the pack to meet at Derek's tonight. It sounded like she had found something. They had to wait until she arrived to find out for sure. Stiles leaned back into the beat up couch Derek had found in an alley and tried not to remember his father's face when he said he'd be with his friends at Derek's place. Derek sat next to Stiles with his arms crossed, scowling at anything that moved and a few things that didn't. Allison stayed near the door. She looked ready to shoot something and flee at a moment's notice, and Stiles noted that Derek's frown avoided her. The others lounged around on whatever they could find.

Stiles was about to try for a nap when Jackson finally escorted Lydia in. She beamed. "They aren't listed as unicorns because they weren't born with the horns," she said, looking around the room as if waiting for applause.

"So they're not unicorns?" Isaac asked.

"They don't have any other name, and they _do_ have a single horn now, so we'll keep calling them unicorns." By the way Lydia smiled at him, she knew exactly how much he'd hoped for a more threatening name. "Now, this," she pulled out a picture of a spider. "Is a funnel web spider. There are a few species. I can't find anything that says it matters which is used."

"Why are we on spiders now?" Cassie asked. She crossed her arms defensively, and her expression had fallen.

"Spiders bridge the gaps between dimensions. We already knew that. Unicorns cross between dimensions. They aren't born with the ability because they get it from spiders." Her smile was sickly sweet this time. "A funnel spider creates a big ugly web with a hole in it." She pulled out another picture, this one of a funnel web.

"It does look a little like a portal," Allison admitted when Lydia had spun the photo far enough that she saw it too.

"Yes, and when used as a portal, they can travel greater distances than other types of webs. But," she held up a finger, "The unicorns don't use them as portals." She readied her next photo. "The web itself looks like a portal. But the inverse of the web, the space inside it, looks like a horn." She held up an illustration of a hand reaching into a funnel web to draw out a horn nestled deep inside. "It takes a lot of power to create a horn from a funnel web, and the beastiary kept calling them 'wands.' There were a few accounts of people binding their wands to their bodies, and I think that's what the unicorns do."

"Their horns are the insides of spider webs?" Stiles twisted his face to express the proper level of disgust. "And I used to think unicorns were pretty." He noticed too late the look on Cassie's face. He tried to splutter something like an apology, but Cassie obviously wasn't interested.

"You found all that in the beastiary?" Allison asked.

"Most of it, yes. I just didn't realize at first that I needed to look into spiders instead of unicorns." Lydia smiled triumphantly.

"But you _did_ look into spiders anyway, didn't you." Cassie nearly out-scowled Derek.

"Of course I did. Spiders are the only way we know to travel between dimensions." Her eyes went hard and her smile biting the way they always did when she looked at Cassie.

"Great job, Lydia," Derek said, and Stiles nearly leapt off the couch and asked what alien had replaced their alpha. But Derek had been trying harder recently to act like a human being interacting with other human beings. Maybe Stiles should give him a break. "Now we figure out how this information can help us get Scott."

"Isn't it obvious? Cassie spins us a web, and Stiles pulls out the wand. It should be stronger than the typical unicorn horn because of the combined powers of a werespider and the fae's touch on Stiles." Lydia gave Derek her victory smile.

Cassie didn't even argue. She just stormed out.

"You know Cassie hasn't accepted yet that she's a werespider." Erica's voice was a threat.

"She can get over it. Scott's the reason she's still alive, so the way I see it, she owes him." Lydia's forced smile and narrowed eyes looked like a fight waiting to happen.

"That's not the way _she_ sees it."

Stiles seriously considered running away before this came to blows.

"Erica," Derek barked. "Do you want to go after Cassie or should I?"

Erica growled, but she spun on her heel and stalked out after Cassie. Most of the others started sharing _looks_ and Stiles wondered how much gossiping they could get out of an event they all saw firsthand.

Lydia dropped the file with her photos onto Stiles' lap. "Everything I could find on retrieving and wielding the wand is in there." She turned away without waiting for a response and waited pointedly until Jackson offered her his arm. "The rest of you can go. That's all I had to say." She and Jackson left together as Jackson rolled his eyes.

Derek watched them go and muttered, "She's in a mood tonight."

Stiles snorted. "Dude, _you're_ in a mood everynight."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that you're one to talk is all." Stiles smirked.

"I need pizza," Isaac announced suddenly. "Let's get pizza." He turned and left with his eyes even wider than usual.

The rest of the pack followed him out, though Allison shot Derek a dirty look before going. Derek stayed where he was. Stiles didn't want pizza, and even if the couch was old, it was comfy. He leaned back again, ignoring the file Lydia had left for the moment.

"Do you think Erica can convince Cassie to help?" He asked after a long silence.

Derek grunted.

"Words, dude. People use words."

"I don't know." He turned to study the ceiling even though Stiles knew it was an entirely uninteresting view. "Are you okay with your part?"

Stiles nodded, then realized Derek wasn't looking at him. "Yeah. I'll do it."

Derek let out a long breath that sounded like released tension. His eyelids slid shut, and he sat with his head back just breathing.

"Careful," Stiles said. "You might fall asleep and hit your head on something."

Derek's face twitched, and he opened his eyes to stare at Stiles. "Will you ever let that go?"

"Nope," Stiles grinned.

Derek dropped his head back against the couch again, and if Stiles didn't know better, he'd think Derek had smiled just a little as he did it. "You've done worse, you know."

"Yeah, but everyone expects it of me. You're supposed to be the big bad alpha wolf." Stiles wondered when he had become comfortable talking to Derek. He thought it might have something to do with seeing him sleeping, clumsy, and nervous the other day. Derek had always seemed like more of a character than a person, that one guy who was always unhappy. Like Zuko from Avatar: The Last Airbender but with more stubble and less honor.

"Careful," Derek said, and that was _definitely_ a smirk on his face. He tugged at Stiles' jacket with one hand. "You wore your red hood tonight."

"My, Grandmother, what big hair you have." He reached out to brush his fingers against Derek's hair as he said it. He could feel the dried gel in it, but not as much as he thought there'd be with the way it stood up.

"Really? My _hair?_ " Derek raised an eyebrow. "You have obviously not met any werewolves from the eighties."

Stiles couldn't think of a comeback this time. He was too busy laughing. "Oh my God," he realized a bit late, and the words came out aloud because there wasn't room left for them in his head. "Derek Hale knows how to crack a joke."

Derek's hand was against his face, and Stiles thought maybe he looked like he was having some kind of fit. Maybe he was. The laughter filled his throat until it choked him, and he couldn't seem to get any air in. But then Derek's face was too close to his, and their legs were touching, and there were lips against his lips. The laughter shriveled in his throat because all he could see was Thera above him, holding him down, laughing. Stiles pushed her away and pushed Derek away. Cold air replaced the warmth of a body beside Stiles. Something slammed. Stiles held himself, trembling, and tried to remember how to breathe.

**~.x.~**

Erica found Cassie crying on the curb. She sat down beside her and put an arm around her back. There was rarely much traffic here, but this late at night, Erica could barely even hear the more distant cars. A streetlight stood only three feet from them, but the bulb had gone out. No one ever replaced it because no one used this part of town anymore. Erica used to think Beacon Hills was too small to have broken and unused pieces like this, but Derek seemed to know every single one. She suspected he had a mattress or two hidden away in every decrepit wreck in town. Cassie's sobs quieted, and Erica shifted to run her fingers through Cassie's red hair.

"She's a bitch," Erica said because it was true. "But she's right too."

Cassie sneered. "No she's not. She thinks I _owe_ him. I was still close enough to hear that." She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. "I don't owe him anything. I hate him."

"Scott's annoying sometimes, but he's a good guy."

"Scott lives in his own little world where everyone thinks the same way he does and everything works out in the end just because it's supposed to." The tips of Cassie's fingers blackened, and her eyes glowed a faint violet. As soon as she noticed, she yelped, returning to normal.

"Scott's naive. I grant you that." Erica rolled her eyes because Scott could be a little more than just naive sometimes. "But does that mean he deserves what's happened to him?" Part of Erica hated being the calm one, the mature one, the reasonable one. She wanted to scream and hit things and make everyone in the pack stop acting like a bunch of children. Erica was quickly realizing she'd left that behind when she stepped in to take care of Cassie.

"I don't know. Do I have to care?"

"You're the one who decides if we save him or not." Erica pulled Cassie to rest her head against Erica's shoulder. "You don't have to care, but you do have to face that decision."

"And if I won't do it, the pack will kick me out." Cassie buried her face in Erica's neck.

"I don't know." She refused to lie to Cassie. Erica had been lied to enough to know it never helped.

"It's not fair!" Cassie gripped Erica's shoulder tightly. By the bite of claw against skin, Erica knew Cassie's fingers had turned black again. "I never asked for this. Why can't I just be human again?"

Erica held Cassie as she cried. Further down the street, one of the streetlamps flickered and went out. She ran her fingers through the other girl's hair and wished she was better at this. Maybe Cassie would be happier if Erica knew how to help her.

"Did you like superheroes as a kid?" Erica asked.

"If you give me some shit about how they never asked for their powers, I'm going to punch you and point out that they're fictional." Cassie pulled away from Erica to look Erica in the eye.

"Well they're metaphors or whatever, but I was gonna make a Spider-Man reference."

"That's just as bad." Cassie gave her a deadpan stare. "Maybe worse."

"Come on, Spider-Man is badass. Might have been a little more badass if he'd realized he belonged with Black Cat, but, hey, boys can be dumb."

Cassie roller her eyes, but she nearly smiled. "He's still a cartoon."

"I wasn't actually going to talk about how he's a spider, by the way." She pressed a finger against Cassie's forehead and pushed back gently enough that when Cassie rocked back it was by choice. "I wanted to bring up that cheesy line about great power and great responsibility."

"You're... as bad as the rest of them sometimes." Cassie shook her head, but she was smiling just a little. The line of her mouth straightened as she looked back up at Erica. "I take it I don't get a say in the great responsibility?"

Erica shook her head. "You've got the power we need to save Scott. That means you've got the responsibility too. I wish you didn't."

"Thanks for that at least." Cassie groaned. "I can't believe you're trying to talk me into this using Spider-Man."

"Well, is it working?" Erica smiled hopefully.

Cassie pushed Erica's face away just as gently as Erica had pushed her. Erica leaned back is if the force had been enough. "Give me some time," Cassie said. "And let's just talk about what a bitch Lydia is for a while. That might make me feel better."

Erica laughed. She couldn't argue with that.

**~.x.~**

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut against the image of Thera. He wished everything would go away or go back to the way it was before when he didn't know about werewolves or faeries or magic. Someone touched his arm.

"He didn't react this way when I moved him before." There was scorn in that voice. Stiles thought he'd heard it somewhere before, but couldn't quite place it. He wondered when someone new had gotten here. And _how_ had someone new found Derek's lair?

"He was like that when I arrived." Stiles' eyes flew open because that was Thera's voice. She stood over him with Daemyn. He hadn't needed Stiles' help to save her after all.

Stiles scrambled to his feet. They were in the woods. Trees and underbrush surrounded them so thickly that Stiles knew he wouldn't make it three yards without tripping. He backed up against the trunk of a tree and felt the rough bark under his fingers. "What do you want?" He wished he didn't sound so scared.

"We didn't have time for introductions before," Thera said as if it was obvious. She smiled and set a hand on Daemyn's shoulder.

"I caught that he's your son." Stiles frowned at the boy. He didn't have anything against him personally, but he was Thera's.

"Children need more than one parent, Stiles. He's also _your_ son." She smiled.

Stiles opened his mouth to deny it, but nothing came out. The pieces of Daemyn's face that didn't match Thera's lined up with what Stiles saw in the mirror every day. "He's too old," he said at last. "It hasn't been long enough for a pregnancy, much less for him to grow up."

Thera laughed. It sounded like wind chimes. "We weren't in this dimension, silly. I took him somewhere time sped faster."

Stiles couldn't argue. There was another dimension bumping against theirs. Maybe Thera had gone there, held them close, and come back. Stiles watched enough science fiction to know different relative time speeds was at least an idea, maybe a possibility, not entirely deniable. "Why did you come back?"

"To see you, of course. You're his father."

Stiles flinched back from the word. If Daemyn came from the night Thera forced Stiles, then he didn't want to be Daemyn's anything.

"You didn't make a great first impression." Thera sighed. "But we've decided to give you time. You could be a great dad."

"No." Stiles tried to back away, but the tree was behind him. He stumbled and fell. "I never wanted... He's not..." Stiles' mouth continued to work around the words he couldn't reach.

Thera stepped forward lightly. Stiles couldn't move. She stared him in the eyes and reached for his neck. "You don't need this now," she said, ripping away the chiastolite necklace Stiles wore. She pulled a black chain with a red stone at its end from between her breasts and fastened it around Stiles' neck. "Wear this one instead." She smiled. Then Thera held Stiles' hand in hers and said, "You'll have one more chance."

The trees around them changed into the walls of Stiles' bedroom. He looked around for anything wrong, and by the time he looked back to Thera, she was gone. Stiles pulled the necklace off and hurled it at the wall, but when he reached for his neck again, the necklace was back. He knew it would be.

His door crashed open. His father stood, staring into the room. "Stiles?" He stepped forward. "You were not here before."

Stiles shook his head. "I was kidnapped by faeries." Then he told his father the truth, if not all of it.


	11. Wasteland

Derek rang the doorbell and stopped himself from shifting his weight from his right foot to his left. He was a werewolf. He was the alpha. He would not be intimidated by a human, especially not one without wolfsbane bullets. Unless Stiles had told him that Derek tried to kiss him. Derek had seen how protective the sheriff was of his son, and normal bullets still hurt even if the wounds healed. The door opened, and Derek held up Stiles' keys. When Stiles' father had taken them, Derek held out the file from Lydia, taped shut so Stiles' father wouldn't look inside.

"He told me you're a werewolf." It was a statement, but behind it was a question. Derek nodded. "He asked me to say he saw the faerie last night."

Derek bristled at the mention of Thera. When this began, Derek was against her because of stories his mother used to tell about fae. Now she was an active threat to a member of his pack, and Derek was ready to rip her magical throat out if she'd hurt Stiles.

Stiles' father held up a hand. "You can't come in. He doesn't want to see anyone."

"Did she hurt him?" Derek didn't bother to keep his eyes from flashing red.

Stilinski's eyes widened, but then he sighed and shook his head. "He won't tell me."

Derek looked past him as if he could find Stiles there even though he was probably in his room.

"I said," Stilinski raised his hand again, and this time set it against Derek's chest like he thought he could hold him back. "You can't come in."

Derek gritted his teeth and backed down.

"And don't try to go in through the window. Go home. He'll call you when he's ready to talk." He shut the door without waiting for Derek to go.

Derek turned, growling, from the door and ran until he reached the husk of his family home.

**~.x.~**

It was a garnet. Stiles still had no idea what Thera meant to do with it, but it had begun to glow during the night. He'd woken, sweating and gasping with shreds of nightmare clinging to the backs of his eyes, surrounded by faint reddish light. The stone had grown brighter steadily since Stiles noticed the light, and it pulsed now to the beat of Stiles' heart. He had locked and barricaded his door to keep his father out. The garnet could only be bad news. He didn't want to lay any more on his dad just yet.

He still needed to talk to Derek too, Stiles remembered. He dropped his forehead to his desk but jumped back up, rubbing at what he hoped wouldn't become a bruise, because he hit it too hard. Maybe he was lucky Derek ran out of the room like a thirteen-year-old girl. The other option probably included Derek's teeth and Stiles' throat getting a bit too close.

And, oh, he had just realized that thought could go more than one way.

Stiles willed his brain to shut off. He spun his chair around to face his room, and his butt hit the ground. Trees surrounded him instead of walls. Sunlight shone through the branches. The underbrush was even thicker than he'd thought last night, or maybe this was a different place. Stiles couldn't tell. He scrambled to put his back to a tree. It could have been the same tree as before. It could have been a tree half a world away.

Thera stepped out from a beam of light. At least it looked like she did. One moment there was only light, and the next a woman walked forward out of nowhere, with nowhere being positioned directly at the edge of a beam of light. Daemyn moved into view from behind Stiles, walking through the trees on his feet rather than using magic as his mother did. Both fae moved to stand before Stiles.

"Tell me," Thera said, "Have you come to your senses?" The garnet pulsed so brilliantly Stiles saw its light move across her face.

"I don't know what you want from me," Stiles said, but what he thought was, _I don't want what you do._

"I want you to speak with your son. I realize you're a little young by your society's standards, but you're mature enough to take responsibility." Thera smiled, and pushed lightly against Daemyn's back to urge him forward.

"Re..." Stiles knew he was staring like Thera had grown a wart the shape of a toad, and he sort of hoped she would. "Responsibility?" He couldn't quite wrap his head around how Thera forcing herself on him was any of his responsibility.

"Not to me, Stiles." That she understood made Stiles wonder how many times she had done this before. Fae were supposed to live for centuries... "To the child." Stiles thought he heard an echo in her voice saying it wasn't Daemyn's fault either.

"You're a fucking bitch," Stiles said instead of what she wanted him to.

Daemyn had moved closer to Stiles, looking too close to hopeful for comfort. Rage replaced hope as he swung his arm and slapped Stiles. "Don't talk to my mother like that." His voice rose with his anger, but he didn't sound threatening. He sounded like an angry kid.

"It's rude to slap, dear," Thera said.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Stiles and I did not part on the best terms." Stiles laughed outright at the understatement, but Thera ignored him. "I'll leave for a little so you two can talk." She wave a hand, and Stiles arms shot behind him to smack against the rough bark of the tree he'd chosen. When he struggled, Thera waggled a finger and smirked. Then she disappeared.

Daemyn studied Stiles' wrists, or the invisible restraints. "Did she have to do that? Would you really have run?"

"Of course I'd have run."

Daemyn studied him. "Do you... fear my mother?" He said the words right, but his expression remained confused, like he couldn't understand why anyone would be afraid of Thera.

"I'd be stupid not to." Stiles tugged his wrists against her magic. "She held me here with a wave of her hand. What else do you think she could do to me?"

Daemyn's hand brushed the air around Stiles wrist, and Stiles thought he was touching the spell. "I could do this too. Does that mean you're afraid of me?"

"At this point, I have to be." Stiles looked around. "You've got me held prisoner in a forest in I-don't-know-where, and you're allied with someone I know is dangerous." He thought about pushing that idea, trying to trick the boy into letting him go, but he let it drop. Stiles thought he might have succeeded if he tried, that the kid _wanted_ to like him and for Stiles to like him too, and using that against him felt dirty, regardless of how Thera had conceived him. Stiles decided to stick to the truth.

The safe version of the truth anyway. The version he'd told his father last night.

"My mother wouldn't hurt you."

Stiles chose not to answer.

"She wouldn't."

Stiles shook his head because she had already hurt him.

"She told me she wants to save you. She told me." Daemyn's eyes were pleading. He wanted Stiles to believe.

"She said to talk. Choose another topic." Stiles looked away from Daemyn's eyes. He couldn't tell a child what Thera had done, couldn't tell his child what she had done to conceive him.

"Mother said you awakened her. Why did you do it?"

"It was an accident. I was trying to escape a werespider and didn't understand the significance of a stone woman in a body of water." Stiles let out a bitter chuckle. If he'd known, he would have run back toward Cassie.

"She told me about the spider girl. Is she still well?" Daemyn perked up at this. Stiles wondered what the dimension he grew up in was like. If he got excited over stories about Cassie, Stiles was going to guess Daemyn didn't have television.

Stiles nodded. "She and Erica are like sisters now." He saw by Daemyn's expression that he knew who Erica was too. "I don't think she likes being a werespider, but she'll get there."

"People here think spiders are creepy, right?"

Stiles nodded.

"And Erica, she's the girl wolf?" Stiles nodded again. "Mom said Erica was a badass." He glanced around suddenly like he'd done something wrong. "She didn't use that word though. Don't tell her I did?"

Stiles wanted to laugh because the faerie holding him captive was afraid of getting in trouble for swearing. "Whatever, dude. But, yeah, she's definitely a badass."

Daemyn grinned. Stiles had to wonder if Erica and Cassie were his favorite characters from Thera's stories. That was a weird thought, so Stiles focused instead on the garnet's red light playing off Daemyn's face. It was still getting brighter.

"The mean one with the phone, that was Jackson, right?" He frowned. Clearly he did not regard Jackson as highly as the girls.

"Yes. He and Thera were not friends."

Daemyn nodded. "She said I wouldn't like him. She said I wouldn't like Lydia or Derek either."

"Hey!" Stiles tried to pull an arm around to shove a finger in the kid's face, but the restraints held. "Lydia Martin is a gift to the universe. And Derek is..." Stiles couldn't exactly say, 'a little confusing because he kissed me last night,' so he went with, "Hard to get used to, but still a good guy."

Daemyn frowned. "Mother told me he hates the fae."

"At this point, the fae don't have a great track record with me either, so I'm inclined to take his advice next time." It might have been too harsh, but Daemyn didn't flinch.

"Was he the one in your room?"

Stiles nodded.

"He has a stupid face."

Stiles chuckled. "Dude, his face is fine."

"It looks like he needs to poop." Daemyn gave an exaggerated scowl that Stiles guessed was supposed to be an imitation of Derek. It actually wasn't that bad.

"Eh, you've just never seen him in a good mood." He remembered the way Derek's lips had curled upward as he teased Stiles.

"Mother said Derek is immune to good moods."

Stiles snorted. "That is a really good one. I should use it some time."

That pleased Daemyn more than it should have. Red light pulsed over his face and reflected in his eyes, making his expression sinister. He reached forward and pressed a finger to the garnet. As he pulled his hand away, Thera reappeared.

"That's a lovely glow," she said. "I think it's time."

Daemyn's face fell.

"Unless you've changed your mind?" Thera turned to Daemyn.

"He's not so bad when he stops to talk..." Daemyn scuffed a shoe against the ground.

With a frown, Thera waved her hand again, and Stiles was free. He turned and ran. Tree roots and shrubbery rose from the ground, but he leapt over them. Stiles reminded himself he was an athlete. He ran all the time without tripping and falling on his face and being caught by faeries.

Thera and Daemyn appeared in front of him, and Stiles ran into a tree trunk trying to go another direction. He slammed against it and then to the ground. "Well, that was a waste of time," he mumbled as the faeries approached.

"Why did you run?" Daemyn asked.

"I thought I made it pretty clear that I didn't want to stick around." Stiles rubbed at his nose and forehead where he'd hit the tree. His fingers came away spotted with blood.

"But you were nicer after that." Frustration strained Daemyn's voice.

"To _you,_ alone, with no way of escaping." He scrambled to his feet, trying to think of another way out. He didn't know what Thera had planned, but it couldn't just be talking to Daemyn. The pulsing garnet made that clear. He could see its light, but he could also feel it against his chest now, beating in time to his heart.

"So you wouldn't have talked if Mother hadn't trapped you?" Daemyn's voice was softer.

Stiles shook his head. "Not if Thera could reach me."

"You haven't changed your mind then, Stiles?" Thera kept her voice gentle, regretful, and quiet, like she had hoped he would forgive her after seeing their son. But Stiles saw the glint in her eye and had learned the feeling of her lies.

"I hate you," he told her, and his voice burned through his throat.

Daemyn took a step back, but Thera stepped forward.

"I don't think we have a choice, Daemyn. By himself, he seems harmless, but Stiles doesn't work by himself." She put an arm around her son. "And he already has a taste for my power." She shuddered, but Stiles could see the wicked grin on her face over her son's shoulder. The garnet's pulse reflected off her teeth.

Daemyn nodded. He stepped forward slowly, his legs stiff with unease. A root from the tree Stiles had run into caught his foot, and Daemyn stumbled. His breathing came raggedly, and Stiles wondered what Thera had convinced him they needed to do. They hadn't bound him this time, so Stiles turned again and ran. He focused on how much he hated Thera, on what she had done to him. Rage boiled in his chest, and he sent it down his arm to the tips of his fingers. When Thera appeared in front of him, Stiles raised his arm and propelled the spark forward. It shattered like a glass ball when it hit her, and bits of flame rained down on her dress and the underbrush.

Stiles reached out to the flames and into them. He made them hungry and angry. He made them grow. Thera put out the ones on her dress, but Stiles had a stronger hold of the others. She pushed them away, and he pushed them forward again. He sent a line of flame to a tree and told it to feed and burn. It ravaged the thick trunk in seconds. The tree toppled, and the flames spread, some to its limbs, and others back toward Thera.

Pain blossomed in the back of Stiles' head, and he fell forward into darkness.

**~.x.~**

Cassie wanted to scream that Stiles was in danger, that Thera was ready to kill him. If she had known this was the cost of punishing Jenneva Cole, Cassie would have told the fae to let her go. But she hadn't known. She couldn't have known. She turned her head to where Derek scowled at the funnel web she had built. He would have known. Maybe he couldn't know the exact price, but he knew better than to make deals with faeries.

"I feel like something's off," she said because Thera's power forced her to keep them here. It was true though. The web had a funneled shape, but it felt flat, like the last piece still lay on the ground nearby and forgotten. It reminded her of looking at an old dollar bill and thinking the President's head was the wrong size. But she would have left her web trouble for later if she could just manage to warn everyone about Stiles and Thera.

Most of the others were nearby in the field or woods, keeping watch for unicorns. Derek had warned them that getting caught in whatever field allowed unicorns to move could trap them along with Scott. Cassie didn't blame them for wanting to avoid that.

Lydia studied the web closely, looking back and forth from it to her notes. Cassie had expected her to shy back from the web, to call it gross and tell Cassie to figure it out. Instead she moved in close, studying it, even touching it. Cassie only hated her more for it. Maybe Lydia should have been the spider. But she was immune, Cassie remembered.

Her hatred seethed, but Cassie held it caged.

"It doesn't look like the one in the picture," Allison said. She had not gotten as close as Lydia or Derek. Her distance hurt too, even if it didn't make Cassie angry the way Lydia's closeness did.

"Funnel webs vary a lot," Lydia said. "Of course it looks different." She stuck her hand into the hole and felt around at its back.

"No, I mean," Allison paused, probably looking for the right words. "The picture looked like a portal, like a wormhole made of silk."

"Yes, I picked it because I thought the imagery would help get the concept across." She plucked at one of the edge threads and pulled at it, tracing its effect toward the center.

"This one," she glanced at Cassie as if afraid of offending her and gave an apologetic little shrug, "Looks like a sheet with a hole in it."

"It's only the hole that's supposed to matter." Lydia sat back and stared at the web like it would give its secrets to her.

"Maybe Allison's right," Cassie said because she wanted Lydia to always be wrong and because Thera's spell made her find ways to keep them stalled. She stepped forward and willed herself to step back. She didn't. Derek kept checking his phone, but Cassie knew he wouldn't get reception this close to the unicorns. That was why she/Thera had brought them here.

Cassie knelt. Her fingers became longer, sharper, and darker. She hated the change. It made her skin feel crawly, just like the lingering disgust that crept along her skin after finding a bug on it. It was an expectation of more bugs, of more changes, of becoming the massive, disgusting spider beast again. Cassie knew it was fear too.

A spinneret pressed through the skin of her wrist. It hurt more than the change in her fingers, but Cassie refused to show pain in front of Lydia. She began weaving, pulling the silk through her spinneret and pressing it to the web and the ground around it. The flat sheets needed to move, so she lifted and reattached them at angles, twisting them to build the illusion of a wormhole. She added new sheets, reaching further out, and sent threads back to the center. Lydia, Allison, and Derek watched as she worked. Cassie felt their eyes on her and would have hidden in shame if Thera's spell didn't keep her working, pulling their attention to her.

"That's amazing," Allison whispered, voice breathy with awe. She leaned forward and nearly reached out to touch the web. "It's like a sculpture. Like art."

Cassie's first instinct was to think she was lying. Even though Cassie didn't have the same super hearing the werewolves did, she had found she could feel lies tremble against her skin. This was honest. "Really?" She asked of her own will. A smile almost reached her lips.

Allison nodded and smiled to her. "It's beautiful."

The smile found her then, and the spell let her hold Allison's eyes for one beautiful moment because it served as just another form of stalling. But she remembered the danger Stiles was in and looked away rather than risk Allison seeing Cassie's deceit in her eyes. The spell kept her working to keep from raising suspicion. Cassie hated Thera.

Cassie focused on the image of a portal. With each thread of silk, she imagined reaching to a different place, a place no one else could touch. Thread by thread the web began to echo her imagination. It thrummed with a power that entered at her fingers to run through the rest of her body.

"See if it feels different to you," Cassie said as she motioned for Lydia to approach the web.

Lydia moved carefully, pressing gently against the web and studying it from different angles as she had before. When she reached her hand into the funnel, her eyes widened. She pulled her arm out, looked into the hole, and pressed her hand in again. It disappeared up to her elbow even though it had been only three inches deep before.

"Yeah," she gasped. "I think that's better."

Erica and Boyd raced into the clearing by the cave before Lydia could study the web further. "Unicorn sighting," Erica called. "Time to fly south." She pointed opposite the way they had come, but Jackson and Peter were loping from that direction toward the cave.

"I just saw a unicorn man riding a unicorn horse," Jackson said.

"And if we don't move on, everyone else will see it too," Peter added.

"Bad news, guys," Isaac said, coming out of the forest from the west. "I saw one too."

They turned east toward the cave, and Cassie felt the tension build against her skin. A wolf stepped from the cave. It snarled and bent its head down to point its horn at them.

**~.x.~**

Stiles woke on the ground with Daemyn over him, holding his face and staring at his eyes. He looked upside-down because he leaned over Stiles from beyond the crown of his head. "He's up," the boy said. His eyes had grown hard since Stiles saw them last. Thera must have said something beyond Stiles' hearing because Daemyn nodded, and furrowed his brows in concentration.

A jolt ran through Stiles' chest. His body tensed and jerked even when he tried to still it. A force, smoky and cold, ran from Daemyn to the garnet and into Stiles. It passed through his heart along his arteries with his blood. The chill of it ran through him, spreading slowly. Stiles tried to move, to shove Daemyn away and make a run for it again, to scream. His back arched, but not by his command. When his mouth opened, no sound came out.

When the cold had spread fully and returned through his veins to his heart, it began to pass back out through the garnet and into Daemyn. Stiles felt his power go with it, the magic Thera had given him when he woke her and later when she raped him. Only in feeling it pass out of him did Stiles understand how much there had been, how strong she had made him, all the things he could have done.

He struggled harder. He wanted it back. _Needed_ it back or he'd never be able to reach Scott where he was trapped. That power would save Scott now, could save the others in the future. It left canyons where it had passed, the room it made for itself gaping open because Stiles had nothing left to fill the space.

Every ounce of Thera's magic left him, and Stiles felt its absence more keenly than he felt the leaves and grass beneath his fingers. The cold continued to circulate, taking more power from him. The power Stiles had always carried passed away. Craters joined the canyons, and Stiles felt himself become a wasteland.

Thera encouraged Daemyn to keep going, that it was working, and that he was almost there. _Almost where?_ Stiles wanted to scream, but a clog in his throat blocked his voice's way. Nothing escaped. When he ran out of magic, Stiles felt his life passing through the garnet. His throat spasmed as his lungs failed, and the garnet's pulse slowed with his heartbeat. The cold moved more slowly now. The tense muscles of Stiles' body relaxed, and the edges of his vision blurred. Even the smell of the forest slipped away.

Stiles closed his eyes, and the backs of his eyelids looked like his own face, lying ashen against the forest floor. There were hands against his cheeks, fingers digging into his jaw. Those were Daemyn's hands, and these were Daemyn's eyes, he realized. Daemyn sensed him, but could not force him out and work the spell at the same time. Stiles took advantage of that and slid into the spellwork. He felt his life force sliding out of his body and joining the human parts of Daemyn's own life force, so Stiles worked to build it a new pathway. It felt like working with water, moving slowly, bit by bit, to overtake something larger through sheer inevitability.

When his path was complete, it led his life through Daemyn and out again to Thera. For a moment she looked confused, and Stiles imagined her trying to understand, forgetting the feel of life without magic because she touched it so rarely. Then she threw back her head and screamed. She collapsed the pathway, leaving Stiles' life slowly pouring out into the air with nowhere to go. He blocked it off, but Daemyn was already pulling away, ending the spell. He screamed his mother's name, but it was too late.

Stiles had infected her. Literally. His life breached her immortality. Even the small amount he'd managed to funnel to her made her mortal, but it ran out in seconds. Thera collapsed, and Stiles sensed through Daemyn that her body had emptied. Daemyn screamed and rushed toward his mother, shoving Stiles out of him and back into his own body.

For a moment, Stiles struggled to breathe. There was no pain, only numbness, and that frightened him more than how little air reached his lungs. He wished he could pass out, but instead lay listening to Daemyn's sobs and staring at the vague light that his eyes couldn't seem to focus on.


	12. Magic and Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW TEEN WOLF TODAY  
> I AM EXCITED

The unicorns neared. Cassie could sense them now, like grains of sand rubbing her skin raw. The pack should have been safe in town or out searching the woods for Stiles and Thera. Instead, they were surrounded because of Cassie. Thera's spell broke. Cassie felt it shatter and fall back toward the east like its ground lay beyond the caves instead of below her feet.

She screamed, "Thera has Stiles."

There were unicorns in every direction, one of them only yards away with its teeth bared, but she had been holding it in for so long that it burst forth before she considered it.

"What?" Derek snarled.

"She had worked some kind of spell to make me distract you so no one would go after him, but it just broke. I don't know why. But it came from that way," she nodded east, "In the woods past the caves."

Derek nodded, expression dark. "Allison, Lydia, I need you to find someone to carry you. We're going over the caves."

Allison began, "Derek, you can't be—"

"I'm serious. I think six werewolves can cow a single wolf, even a unicorn wolf, and it's the way we need to go." His eyes turned red, and his face shifted.

"But you want us to run _toward_ the thing you kept telling us to run away from." Allison looked at him like he'd gone crazy.

"The other option is waiting for it here," Isaac pointed out as he moved to stand in front of Allison. Then he turned around and bent down. "I'll carry you. It'll be okay." After a moment when she did not move, Isaac added, "We'll come back for Scott once we have Stiles."

Allison looked like she wanted to scream at them, but she climbed on Isaac's back. Lydia chose to ride on Jackson's back. The wolves shifted to their beta forms, eyes glowing, claws extended. Cassie took a deep breath and reminded herself of the way Allison had looked at her web and called it beautiful even though it belonged to a spider. Erica nodded her encouragement, and Cassie shifted.

She had seen herself in the mirror before. In some ways it wasn't so different from the wolves. There was less hair. Their faces shifted to enhance anger, with heavy brows and the look of a snarl to their nose bridges. Cassie's shift smoothed away emotion. Instead of bulging and deepening, her features leveled except for faint crevices at her temples where her fully shifted form would grow extra eyes. Her forehead would not stretch to make room for the next row unless she shifted further. Her ears flattened against her head, becoming less pronounced rather than more as the wolves' did. Her eyes glowed violet. Erica grinned, and Cassie tried to smile back past her new teeth.

They charged forward as a pack, following Derek toward a unicorn. He growled, and the wolves joined him. Cassie kept silent; spiders did not make sounds. The wolf whimpered and rolled onto the ground in submission as the pack leapt over the cave mouth.

The pack raced through the woods. Cassie took lead and followed the direction she remembered feeling Thera's spell from until Derek caught Stiles' scent and charged ahead. The wind of her movement sent Cassie's hair flowing behind her. Air brushed along her face and cooled her body as sunlight and exertion warmed it. No one looked at her like a monster even though they could see her. She almost smiled, but then they reached Stiles.

He lay on the ground between the trees in the distance. A dark-skinned boy cradled Thera against his chest on the ground nearby. Cassie felt the vibrations of the boy's sobs and two heartbeats. Thera was dead. Her death broke the spell over Cassie. Something else hummed against her skin like the rising puff of dust after she threw flour against the counter while baking. It was Thera's body. A slow dusting had replaced her heartbeat, and Cassie suspected it would continue until she dissolved entirely. Cassie pulled her attention back to the living heartbeats. One was faint and stuttering. As they neared, she felt a tremble on the air and recognized it as Stiles' breathing. She stopped running with his feet at hers and stared, wondering how he had not died already.

They surrounded Stiles' body, but there was no enemy to defend him from, only a dead fae and a crying boy. And the way Stiles' body slowly but surely failed him as they watched. Derek knelt beside Stiles, his own heart racing. He fumbled out his cell phone and dialed. Cassie had never seen him so afraid.

"Is he...?" Lydia whispered, kneeling to Stiles' other side. She took his pulse and checked if he was breathing.

No one answered Derek's call. He cursed and redialed.

Jackson stood over the boy. "Daemyn," he said. Cassie turned toward them, wondering how Jackson knew him. "What happened?" At first Daemyn didn't answer, but Jackson grabbed his hair to pull his head up and asked again, "What happened?"

"He killed her," Daemyn screamed, high and shrill and broken. "He killed my mother."

"I don't blame him. Is that why you're killing him?" Jackson's voice was unsettling, icy and still despite the turmoil around him. Cassie had doubted stories that the bite turned him into a reptile. She believed them now.

"I'm not. We were only taking her power back because he stole it. And then he... and then he..." Daemyn broke down again into sobs. They sounded hot beneath Jackson's icy voice.

"You took more than that though, didn't you?"

Daemyn shook his head. "No, I wouldn't. I couldn't. He'll be fine. He's... I wish I had!" He clutched his head in his hands, and Cassie felt the lie against her skin. She had no doubt Daemyn believed it since Stiles had killed his mother, but he didn't mean it. He would regret it later if Stiles died.

"How did he kill her?" Jackson cocked his head. His eyes were as cold as his voice.

Derek cursed and dialed again.

"He ruined it. She said she couldn't take it back, that I had to, and then he sent it to her anyway. She couldn't have it. It poisoned her!" Daemyn's eyes were wide and wet. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and Cassie couldn't help but think, _He's only a boy._

"There was more than magic in it," Jackson insisted. "Look at him. Look how empty he is." When Daemyn didn't move, Jackson grabbed him and forced him to face Stiles. "You did that," he insisted, voice still cold despite the tension.

Daemyn tried to look away, but Jackson held him. "He tried to kill her," he insisted in a small voice. "He tried to burn her."

"Do you want him to die?" Jackson said into his ear in a voice that made Cassie's hair stand on end.

"I..." He stared at Stiles, lying on the ground as whoever Derek was calling finally answered.

"It's Stiles," Derek said into the phone. "He needs help." He gave directions and hung up. Instead of putting away his phone, he dialed another number and brought the phone to his ear again.

"I wasn't trying to kill him," Daemyn said.

"But you were." Jackson pulled Daemyn to his feet, away from his mother's body. "You were draining him dry."

The others watched Jackson, looking as confused as Cassie felt. No one moved to interfere. Derek spoke into the phone, describing Stiles' condition and what he thought caused it, but otherwise, only Jackson and Daemyn spoke.

"I didn't—"

"It would have felt different, wouldn't it? You would have noticed. Why would magic kill a fae?" His claws bit into Daemyn's jaw and neck where he held him.

"No, it was supposed to change. She told me. She said it was a taint, it was..." Daemyn trembled. "Magic can't kill a fae."

"So what killed Thera?"

Daemyn's knees gave out, but Jackson held him up by his throat. "Human life," he sobbed, voice thin with emotion and strain. Then he shoved Jackson with something more than strength and sent him flying back. Daemyn leapt forward and pressed his hands against Stiles' chest. Derek jerked Daemyn back, but Stiles coughed as more air entered his lungs. Daemyn disappeared. Derek fell to his knees beside Stiles and told him everything would be alright even though he wasn't awake to hear it.

**~.x.~**

Stiles opened his eyes, saw only a vague blur of light, and closed them again. There was a buzzing in his ears, and beyond it another sound, deeper, more deliberate. When Stiles focused on it, the sound took on the shape of his name and the tone of his father's voice. He slid his eyes open again and held them longer. A shadow blocked the light, and his name came out of it. Stiles blinked, slowly at first but gradually speeding up, until his father's face came into focus.

"Dad?" He asked because his dad should have been at home and Stiles should have been in the forest.

Dying, he remembered. He should have been dying.

His father spoke again. They were the words of a man only just convinced he wouldn't lose his son. Not dying, then. Not anymore.

"What happened," Stiles gasped. His throat was scratchy and dry. The buzzing in his ears began to fade.

"Your friends found you. You were nearly... They said it was the faerie." He squeezed Stiles' hand. "They're in the hall if you want to see them."

Stiles closed his eyes and counted four slow breaths. His body ached.

"The veterinarian is here too, and they all want him to see you." A question sneaked into his voice.

"He does magic sometimes," Stiles explained, and it reminded him of the empty gashes where he used to have magic. More scars no one could see. "Tell him he can't help."

"They said..." He stopped to look at Stiles. "They said you used to have magic, and the faerie pulled it out. Is that what you mean by, 'he can't help'?"

Stiles nodded, and it sent pain crashing through his head and down his spine. He tried not to show it.

"Then he still wants to see you. And this," he reached forward and lifted the garnet on the black chain. "Keeps reappearing when we take it off you. He wants to look at it."

"Fine," Stiles said because he was too weak to argue.

His father stood, and Stiles stared at the ceiling, listening to his footsteps against a hard floor and the creak of the door. The room smelled like too much cleaner, and beneath that like sickness. He was in the hospital. A short while later, the door creaked again, and two sets of footsteps approached. "Stiles," Deaton said. "Do you want your father here for this?"

His dad tried to protest, but Stiles barked out a rough, "No," as soon as he realized it was an option. As bitter as he could be that no one saw what was wrong, he didn't want his father to know when he hurt.

"Please, Mr. Stilinski," Deaton said, voice smooth as running water. They were silent for too long, but then Stiles heard footsteps moving away from his hospital bed and the door creak open. It hesitated before creaking shut.

"Can you move your head?" Deaton asked.

"Yeah, but it hurts." Stiles flicked his eyes around, but Deaton was outside his field of vision. He turned slightly toward the voice and found him sitting in a chair beside the bed. Stiles' head felt like it would explode.

"Everything is going to hurt for a while." He didn't sound very concerned. "I want you to hold this." He held up a padded box with a gemstone somewhere between dark blue and black sitting inside of it. Stiles twitched his fingers, and pain shot up his arm.

"Do I have to?" Stiles did not look forward to the pain of actually lifting his arm.

"Yes."

Stiles gritted his teeth even though it hurt his jaw. He forced his arm up. It felt like it was on fire. Stiles imagined his skin shriveling and tearing as his hand reached the box. The stone was cool to the touch, but it quickly grew hot in his hand. Stiles brought his arm back down to the bed and let it rest at last.

"Let's not do that again," he said and was surprised at the breathlessness of his voice.

"Magic is like water," Deaton said. "It flows steadily and creates itself a place where it flows. It can dry up or be drained." He paused. "Sometimes there's more hidden underground even when it looks like the land is dry."

"Are you trying to say I could have more magic that I just can't access yet?" Stiles wasn't sure anymore if he wanted more magic.

"Might. Yes. Might not. We won't know for a long time. You'll have to heal first." He looked at Stiles hand. "Life is different. Mortal life, that is. It's more like fire."

"What does it burn?" Stiles asked. He knew fire well enough to understand its hunger.

"Think of it as your body. So long as you have a body, your life force has something to consume. You don't have a set amount of life, only limited fuel."

"So I can definitely get back the life they drained? Or does it drain more of my body?" That was really unclear.

"You can increase your fuel supply by caring for your body. Or decrease it by straining your body. The spell was a huge strain, so now you need to care for your body to replenish your fuel supply," Deaton said.

"Are you telling me to rest, eat right, and exercise once I have energy again?" Stiles narrowed his eyes.

Deaton smiled. "Yes." He stood and returned the stone from Stiles' hand to the box, touching it only with a swatch of cloth. "Don't try any magic without coming to me first." He turned away and walked out of Stiles' sight. The door creaked as he left.

Stiles' father returned almost as soon as Deaton left. He took the chair beside Stiles' bed and leaned forward to hold Stiles' hand. When Stiles gripped back, it didn't hurt as much as he expected. Only then did Stiles remember Deaton hadn't said a word about the stone around his neck.

**~.x.~**

Jackson slipped into Stiles' room long past visiting hours.

"What do you want?" Stiles grunted when the door woke him.

"I wasn't going to say anything," Jackson started, "But then you almost died."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Spit it out."

"I know Thera raped you. I know Daemyn's your son." His voice lost some of its usual calm even though he had adopted a casual stance.

"...How?" Stiles lips couldn't quite close after he finished the word. He stopped breathing.

"I knew something happened before she left because you were acting strange and angry. When you and Daemyn showed up at my house, I put the rest of it together." He shrugged.

" _I_ didn't even know at that point."

"I noticed." Jackson raised an eyebrow. "Not sure how since it was kind of obvious, but I guess that's how you get through life."

"Stop being an ass. What are you going to do now? Blackmail me?"

Jackson stepped back as if Stiles had slapped him. "I..." He paused, swallowed, started again. "I wanted to tell you that you don't have to be his father." He clenched his jaw. "You don't have to turn him away either."

"Jackson, are those human sentiments I detect?" Stiles smirked, but it was thin with strain.

"Now who's being an ass?" He raised his eyebrows as if a little sass made the comment more powerful. "He obviously grew up without you. He probably dreamed for years of meeting you, and having you instantly love him and join his family. He probably also had nightmares about you rejecting him."

"I thought this was an argument for why I didn't have to keep him."

"Shut up. I'm covering both sides." Jackson said it with an air of superiority. "You never gave consent for the sex that conceived him. Even some republicans believe abortion is okay in the case of rape, not that I'm saying you can kill him. He's a bit old to abort. I'm just saying, not keeping him is acceptable from your point of view as a victim."

"Don't call me that." Stiles bit off the words.

"Why? It's true."

"Just... don't." Stiles squeezed his eyes shut.

"Fine. I've done my good deed for the year now, so I'll leave you to your misery." He smirked, but it was empty of his usual malice.

"Jackson," Stiles said before he left. "Please don't tell anyone."

"I won't."


	13. Take It Back

Stiles lay in his own bed now. He had gotten up long enough to dress and, after staring into his closet for too long, had pulled on his red hoodie. Maybe Derek would freak out since it was the same jacket he wore when he tried to kiss him, but maybe he would remember joking with Stiles instead. Stiles positioned himself on top of the covers to look more like he just wanted to be comfortable and less like a bedridden patient. When he had asked his father if he could invite Derek over, Stiles had gotten a long stare that made him jittery, but he'd also gotten permission.

The doorbell rang. Stiles pressed his palms against the comforter and willed them not to sweat. Derek entered the room, and Stiles' father followed. Derek's eyes kept darting to the side like he wanted to look back at Stiles' dad but didn't want to look nervous. They hadn't spoken since he tried to kiss Stiles.

"Dad," Stiles said. "I want to talk to Derek alone."

His dad raised an eyebrow.

"Don't give me that look. Leave us alone." He pointed to Derek. "He'll know if you're close enough to listen."

His dad gave Derek a dirty look and Stiles a grin. "I'm just messing with you. I'll be watching TV."

Stiles narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "You never watch TV."

"I never have time, but someone got me a few days off work."

As his father turned away, Stiles gaped. "You're using me to catch up on soap operas and reality shows!" He shook a fist in mock rage as his dad disappeared down the hall. "Close the door," he said to Derek when his father had moved on. "And do let me know if he can hear."

Derek complied. As soon as he turned back to Stiles he began, "Are you okay? I—"

"She raped me," Stiles cut him off. He'd planned to start elsewhere, never decided if he was going to say that part at all, but it leapt out of him before he clamped his teeth shut.

Derek froze halfway through the room. His fists clenched and unclenched as his mouth opened and closed. Stiles couldn't tell if he was breathing.

"When I pushed you away, it was," he had to pause and make himself breathe. "I looked it up. It's called being triggered. It was like a flashback and a panic attack in one. You kissed me, and all I saw was _her_. I pushed her away, but you were the one my hands reached."

Derek looked shell-shocked. "I thought we'd talk about how you almost died in the woods."

"I'm fine. Thera's taken care of. Not my fault you never bothered to talk to me in the hospital or anything." Stiles pouted. "I've already had the almost-died talk about fifteen times. Can we skip it?"

Derek frowned. "We should have had someone with you so they couldn't abduct you."

"Well, at least you didn't say 'kidnap.' My dad loves to talk about my 'kidnappings.'" Stiles rolled his eyes, mostly to try and loosen some of the tension of the moment. It didn't work. "You can't guard me twenty-four-seven, and don't give me that stern-mouth glare shit because you _are not_ going to try to prove me wrong." Stiles jabbed a finger against Derek's chest and only afterward realized he sounded like he was scolding a child.

"You're still weak."

"But she can't hurt me when she's dead."

"Her son got away."

"Her son saved me, and..." Stiles hesitated, but then he realized he'd already told Derek the worst part. "And he's _my_ son too."

"Fuck."

"That about sums it up. Now can we talk about my thing?"

Derek's eyes skirted away from Stiles' face. "I'd rather not." Then he sighed. "But I'm sorry."

Stiles waved a hand to dismiss Derek's apology. "A little melodramatic, but it'll have to do. I want to know why you kissed me."

"It was a mistake. I'm sorry, and I won't do it again." Derek hunched forward.

"That's not what I asked. I distinctly said, 'why you kissed me,' not, 'you better apologize and promise never to kiss me again.' That's what I heard anyway. Is that not what you heard?"  
"I'm not sure what question to answer anymore."

"Seriously, Derek."

"Why do you think?" He asked. "I've been told most people kiss others because they have romantic feelings for them." His eyes darted to the right and lingered there. "Then again the only moves I know are brood, scowl, threaten, and wolf. I'd have to unlearn a move to learn either feelings or kiss."

"Dude," Stiles mouth fell open. "That one was Pokemon, wasn't it. How do you even know Pokemon?"

Derek paused and pulled back. "How old do you think I am?"

"Um." Stiles smiled, but it was tense. He'd never thought much of Derek's age. "To be fair, you barely know how to use Google."

"You think I'm old."

"I don't think you're old."

"You probably forget that 'uncle' means roughly the age of _my parents_ and just assume I'm close to Peter's age." Derek's hunch returned.

"Dude, Peter's so much older than you." Stiles raised his hands to calm Derek.

"Give me a number then. How old am I?" He turned away from Stiles like he couldn't bear to look at him. Stiles was beginning to think he just wanted to hide a smile.

"I don't know..." He honestly didn't.

"A number." He had good voice control. Stiles gave him that.

"Twenty-seven?"

Derek collapsed back against the bed. "What did I do to deserve this?"

Stiles gave in and laughed. "Okay, how old are you?"

"I can't tell you that."

"But you just threw an entire fit about it." Stiles gestured widely at Derek. Now he wanted to know how old he was.

"I do not throw fits. I overflow with manly rage." Derek pulled his brows down and frowned. It looked a lot like his normal expression, but Stiles thought he meant it for an exaggerated grump.

"It's nice that you're trying to cheer me up, or maybe trying to distract from a conversation that requires you talk about your feelings, but I'm cheerful enough for serious conversation now." Stiles leaned heavily against his pillows and waited while Derek sat up.

"I like you," Derek said after a painful pause. "And that sounded like a teenager. I admire you, and being around you makes life feel... better." His eyes lingered on the bedspread even when Stiles waved his hands around.

"You used to slam me against walls and threaten me." Stiles pointed his finger at Derek and waited for an explanation.

"I had to get used to you."

Stiles chuckled. "I know the feeling."

"Is that enough then?" Derek was looking at Stiles' hands instead of his face.

"I'd honestly like to hear more about how you admire me." Stiles went for a grin but noticed the stiffness of Derek's face and the straight line of his mouth that kept twitching like he needed to frown but didn't want Stiles to see. "Oh, God, what did I do now?"

"We've talked about it, okay. Can't we just move on?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Fine. I think you're surprisingly funny, you generally mean well, and once you stop scowling, you're face is actually pretty awesome. I just would appreciate some warning before you kiss me in the future."

Stiles nearly insisted they return to how awesome he was now, but he saw the look on Derek's face. It was shock. His mouth had fallen open and his eyes were wide. He hadn't been sulking because he wanted Stiles to reciprocate. He'd thought Stiles was forcing him to talk about feelings that Stiles didn't return. Or maybe couldn't return, given where Stiles had begun this conversation.

Stiles leaned forward. His limbs were stiff, but moving didn't hurt the way it had at first. He pressed a hand against Derek's cheek and felt rough stubble, bare skin, and the short hair at Derek's temples. Slowly, Stiles leaned forward, afraid Derek would pull away even though he'd kissed Stiles first. When their lips met, Stiles closed his eyes. He hardly remembered their first kiss, but this one was definitely better. Derek brought his hands to cup Stiles' face and leaned into the kiss.

Then Derek jerked back and put both hands flat on the bedspread. "Your dad's coming," he whispered.

"We have to tell him," Stiles said but kept his voice low.

"He'll shoot me. Multiple times."

"No he won't." Stiles shoved Derek's shoulder. "We have to tell him."

"Fine," Derek hissed as Stiles' father pushed open the door.

"How's it going, guys?" He raised his eyebrow, and Stiles wondered if he looked as guilty as Derek did.

"Great. We talked. About things." Stiles wished he sounded less awkward.

"Out with it."

Usually Stiles would spend this moment formulating a lie or distraction. Instead he blurted, "I just kissed Derek Hale."

His father sighed. "Remind me of the penalty in California for unlawful sexual intercourse with a person under eighteen years of age who is more than three years younger than the actor?"

"Up to one year imprisonment in a county jail or time in state prison," Stiles answered before realizing it was meant as a barb at Derek. "Oh my God, Dad, we're not having sex. I just kissed him."

"Uh-huh. We'll see how long that lasts."

"Does that mean you won't stop us from..." They hadn't discussed yet where to go. Stiles didn't know if Derek wanted to date or just make out sometimes or if he'd suddenly cry that they couldn't be together because it would endanger Stiles.

"I doubt I could, but this door stays open from now on." He gave them both a long, hard look before turning back down the hall.

"See, he didn't shoot you." Stiles nudged Derek.

"He didn't have his gun. He could be getting it now." Derek looked too serious.

"Why are you afraid of my dad?" Derek wasn't even afraid of Allison's dad, and he had a ridiculous supply of guns and had almost killed Derek before.

"I didn't used to be."

Stiles smiled slyly. "That changed when you got the hots for me, right?"

Derek rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, that was definitely it. I've decided your terror is endearing." Stiles gave Derek a magnanimous smile and got another eyeroll in return. "I also note that you haven't denied anything."

Derek's smile was small and faded quickly. "What do you want to..." He licked his lips. "I guess to be? To do? I don't want to... trigger you again."

"I hadn't really thought beyond telling you I liked you too." Stiles stretched his hand out to twine his fingers with Derek's. "Would a first date be out of the question?"

"I think I could handle that." But Stiles saw nervousness in the way he pulled his shoulders forward and refused to look him in the eye. He grinned anyway and scooted over to lean against Derek's side. When Derek put an arm around Stiles and leaned into the touch, Stiles thought he needn't have worried after all.

**~.x.~**

"So," Erica said with a sly smile. "I noticed you were pretty in control during that run for Stiles."

Cassie crossed her arms. "And?"

"I told you mine the first time we talked. I think it's only fair you tell me yours." She prodded Cassie's arm playfully.

Cassie smiled, warm and soft. "Art," she said.

**~.x.~**

The pack gathered at Derek's to discuss the plan to save Scott. Derek had picked Stiles up and literally carried him rather than letting him walk. Stiles would have killed him, but Derek kept laughing at his shouts and teasing him. It didn't make it better, but Stiles had recently discovered he liked when Derek laughed too much to stop him. Now he sat beside Derek on the old couch again, but much closer than last time. Stiles liked the heat of Derek's side pressed against his. Everyone settled down, and Stiles knew it was time.

"I know the plan was for me to pull out the wand," he said. "But I can't." Silence answered him. They already knew. Of course they knew. "We need a new plan."

"I already asked Deaton," Isaac told the group. "He said he can't."

"What about Lydia?" Allison turned to Lydia. "Is that something you could do?"

"I don't think so." Lydia was uncharacteristically quiet.

"Yeah, she might null the web," Peter said. "Bad idea."

Jackson stood and rolled his eyes. "You people are so depressing." His expression made it clear he thought little of their gloom. "We know someone who owes one of us, has magic, and probably hasn't gone all that far." He turned to Stiles. "Unless you don't want Daemyn around given that he almost killed you." Stiles suspected that sentence would have ended differently were they alone.

Stiles had forgotten about Daemyn. Not Daemyn in general, just Daemyn as someone who could use magic. He still didn't know if he wanted Daemyn around, if he wanted... Stiles could barely even think about being a father, much less actually live it. Derek pulled Stiles closer against his side. Lydia raised an eyebrow.

"Stiles," Jackson said when Stiles stayed silent too long. "What's your call on Daemyn?"

"You seem pretty sure he'd be able to do it," Isaac said.

"He's a faerie." Jackson raised his eyebrows like Isaac was stupid for missing it.

"Then how do we get hold of him? Last I saw, he disappeared into thin air." Erica leaned over the back of the couch, and Stiles couldn't help but feel she was studying him and Derek.

"Stiles still has that creepy necklace, right?" Boyd pointed at Stiles' neck as he spoke even though Stiles had tucked the garnet into his shirt.

"Could that work?" Cassie asked, looking directly at Stiles like she expected him to know.

He pressed his hand against the garnet through his shirt. It had stopped pulsing and glowing since Thera died. He didn't know what else it was or was not doing. "Maybe," he said, remembering the way Daemyn had used it to drain magic and life from Stiles. "I think I can contact him." He still didn't know if he wanted to.

"Then the plan goes forward, but with Daemyn casting the spell." Peter smiled like he'd thought of it himself.

"Stiles didn't say he was okay with it yet," Derek said.

"Does he really have the right to keep us from saving Scott just because he might feel a little bad?" Lydia stood. "Daemyn saved him, remember? So it's not like Stiles is actually in danger."

Allison nodded slowly. "It's terrible that he almost died, but Scott could be dying right now too."

Derek growled, but Stiles set a hand against his chest to calm him. "It's fine," he said and for the first time in a long time didn't bother to make himself sound happier for someone else's benefit. "I'll do it." He watched his friends' smiles falter with bitter satisfaction.

**~.x.~**

When the forest around him made Stiles' chest resonate with its own emptiness, he knew he'd reached the right place. This was where he almost died. This was where his magic died. Stiles shivered with the force of the rattling shards inside him and pulled the garnet from where he'd tucked it beneath his plaid shirt. The stone was warm in his hand, though whether from his body heat or the magic he suspected it still possessed, Stiles couldn't say.

"Daemyn," he whispered into the woods. Then, after fighting past the closing muscles of his throat, "Son." He had told the pack not to come, told Derek and Jackson to keep the others away. They would do what he asked, Stiles knew, because they knew the things he would have to say.

Daemyn stepped out from behind a tree, or it looked like he did. Stiles couldn't be sure given the way faeries teleported around. "What do you want?" He asked. There were dark circles under his wet, red eyes. Of course there were. His mother had just died.

"I need your help." Stiles didn't know how to do this, or even what this was. Was he manipulating Daemyn? Allying with him? Using him? Trusting him? Stiles let the confusion and hopelessness into his voice.

"You killed my mother." Daemyn sneered, fingers arching as if into claws. It made Stiles wonder what spell he was holding. Stiles would have been able to sense it once.

"She killed me first." He let his hands lie limp at his sides. There was nothing for them to do. Derek had told Stiles about how Daemyn revived him once he was forced to admit they'd been draining life from Stiles. "I hear you saved me," he added because he didn't know what else to say in the face of the boy-fae's stare.

Daemyn nodded. "I didn't know," he said. "That it would hurt you or..." He drew in a long, ragged breath and let it out again. "Kill you." They were hard words for a boy his age. They would have been hard words for any age.

"I know." Thera would have lied to him or forced him into it. That seemed to be her way. "You're not fully fae, or you'd have died too."

Daemyn shook his head. "It varies by child, but I came out half and half. Ish."

"Ish?"

Daemyn shrugged. "Ish." He sighed. "I could lean more toward one or the other later depending on... me. Assuming Mother wasn't lying again."

"I think she liked to tell the truth usually. That way the lies had somewhere to hide." Stiles tried to hold back his rage. He didn't know what the boy needed from him, but he seemed to have plenty of anger without Stiles' help.

Daemyn dug the toe of his boot into the ground at his feet. "Why do you think I can help you?"

"We need magic," Stiles said. "You're the only person I know who has enough."

"Are you saying it's my fault?" Daemyn's sneer returned. When Stiles couldn't answer because he wanted to scream, 'Yes,' Daemyn gripped his hands into fists. "You think I owe you, right? You didn't come here to talk to me. You came here to make me pay you back."

"I came here for my friend Scott." There was something else too, but Stiles didn't understand it yet because nothing to do with Daemyn made sense yet.

"I don't care about any Scott." Daemyn blinked back tears, but Stiles saw them trapped in his eyes.

"You want me to care about you though, right?" Stiles hissed in a voice dark with resentment he should have saved for Thera, except she was dead. "I never knew about you. I never wanted you. You showed up out of nowhere with _her_ and told me I was supposed to care." Stiles spread his arms. "Well, here, Daemyn. Tell me who you are, let me get to know you. We all know your feelings are more important than someone who's been kidnapped away from their loved ones and still has a chance that _you don't_ to see their mother again." Stiles was shouting.

Daemyn trembled with his rage. "Well, what about you then, _Dad?"_ It was the first time he'd called Stiles that, and he filled it with all the bitterness of an abandoned child. "You find out you have a son, and what do you do? You ignore him, run away from him, and scream at him. Unless you want something from him, that is." His eyes narrowed. "Real great guy, you are. Only acknowledging the part you played in creating me when it could get me to ply a spell for you."

"I didn't choose to have you." He shouldn't have said that, but he couldn't hold it in.

"Oh, great, I'm an accident. Wonderful. What did you think would happen if you slept with a faerie? Do they teach that differently here?"

"You think I _wanted_ to sleep with her?" Stiles snarled at the thought, but the words died on his lips as they passed them, as he realized what he'd admitted to a child. To her son. To _his_ son. Stiles stumbled back.

"What do you mean?" Daemyn asked, eyes as wide as Stiles'.

Stiles ran from him.

"What do you mean?" Daemyn screamed after him, and then, before he passed out of hearing, "Take it back!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though I don't give an age because we're still waiting on Derek's canon age, I am writing him as roughly my own age (early twenties) because it seems likely that he IS since he was probably around 16 when his family died six years ago (from 2011). And Tyler Hoechlin is only two years my senior, meaning the actor's age also roughly agrees, not that that always matters since, y'know, Crystal Reed is four years older than I am and plays a seventeen-year-old. Anyway, when I was growing up, everyone knew Pokemon is what I'm getting at, so I'm basically assuming Derek had the same childhood pop culture I did based on our being the same(ish) age. Wow that rambles horribly.


	14. Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So before we get to chapters where it's relevant, my beta has recommended I reassure everyone that if this fic contained Major Character Death, I would have warned for it, and I did not warn for it.I know this kills some of the suspense, but I think fandom has a bigger problem with character death than with lack of suspense.
> 
> Also, I'm going on vacation after this, so it'll be over a week before I can post anything more.

When Jackson stood at his full-length mirror and bared his teeth, there were real fangs to see. He remembered his first full moon, or the moments leading up to it, imagining what it would be like, fantasizing about the changes. They had turned out as more of a nightmare. Jackson wondered how screwed he would be now if Scott had been on steroids like he initially thought. He'd have killed fewer people at least.

Jackson's eyes flashed blue as he remembered washing the blood from his hands. All those people would still be alive if he'd just been good enough on his own, if he hadn't needed drugs or the bite or anything outside himself to measure up. With a scowl, Jackson tried to return his eyes to their normal color. He remembered watching Gerard drown Matt without even trying to save him because Matt never thought to tell him to.

He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. He had control now. Not Matt. Not Gerard. When he opened his eyes, they looked human again.

Someone appeared in the room. Jackson knew by the scent and because no one else had the power to appear from nothing that it was Daemyn. He spun and crossed his arms over his chest as he pulled his eyebrows down in anger. He was supposed to be safe in his own home. Part of him wondered if he'd ever be safe again after what he'd done to himself.

"Get out," Jackson growled. He wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone else. He wasn't even in the mood to deal with himself. It wasn't this bad most days, so why did Daemyn have to show up _now?_

Daemyn's face was splotched with red. Dried tears stained his cheeks, though more did not fall while Jackson watched. His hands shook. "Is it true?" He asked.

"What made you think it was okay to just appear in my bedroom?" Jackson hoped he schooled his features better than Daemyn.

"Please. You notice things. I know you do. So just tell me: is it true?" Daemyn's voice was raw. Jackson wondered how long he'd been crying.

"Bother someone else with the cryptic questions, kid. I have better things to do." Jackson made his eyes hard. He couldn't help Daemyn.

"Did she rape him?" Daemyn choked over the word but somehow still made it all the way through.

"Do you really want to talk to me about this?" He already knew the answer, and his arms fell from where he had crossed them to hang at his sides.

"Who else is going to answer me?" No one.

"It's been years for you but only weeks for him," Jackson said. He walked across the room and sat at the edge of his bed. Even though he made no invitation, Daemyn joined him, sitting on the far corner of the mattress.

"Then it's true." He sounded too broken for a kid so young.

"Yes."

Daemyn's eyes fell, and Jackson knew a part of him had hoped for denial. "Mother said you were orphaned. Is it..." He bit his lip. "Is it bad?"

"You're not an orphan."

"I might as well be. Stiles won't want me after..." Daemyn gripped Jackson's sheets in his fist, sending creases along the length of the mattress.

"You aren't an orphan unless he dies." Jackson tried to shrug but got caught in a twitch thinking about how _his_ parents had died. "And he doesn't know what he wants yet."

"Mother always described him as so terrible." Daemyn frowned. "I expected some sort of storybook villain, I guess."

"They had storybooks where you grew up?" Jackson raised his eyebrow in question. He preferred this topic. It was easier.

"Mother brought some things from here. We watched sometimes too, in her crystal." He rubbed his palms flat against the sheets as his lip quivered in a silent threat of more tears. Jackson didn't think he could handle comforting a kid.

"Well, now that we've cleared that up," Jackson stood and hoped Daemyn would do the same. "You can get out of my house."

Daemyn looked down sheepishly. "I don't have anywhere to go..."

"No. Do not try that on me. It's been days. You've been somewhere. Go back there." Jackson crossed his arms and hoped he looked stern. "I answered your question, and that is all you'll get from me."

"Okay, sorry." Daemyn looked like Jackson had kicked him. After one final, hopeful stare, Daemyn disappeared.

Jackson groaned and tried not to think of what an ass he was. There was nothing he could do for Daemyn. He caught his eyes glowing in the mirror again and tried to figure out how he could be in control when his life was such a mess.

**~.x.~**

Stiles locked his door and his window. He grabbed the blankets off his bed and pulled them with him into his closet where he cocooned himself in their warmth. When he was a kid, Stiles had accused his dad of missing the monsters because they hid when he looked in the closet. He'd turned to Stiles with a grin and said, "Exactly," then explained that when a human was in the closet, monsters couldn't be. Stiles was sure his father had made it up on the spot, but as a kid he'd taken to hiding in the closet to keep the monsters out. Now it was just a habit, something familiar to make life a little less horrible.

He'd spent a lot of time in his closet recently. Maybe he was still trying to keep the monsters out.

It had been an accident. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands against his ears as if that could block out the memory. Daemyn knew now. He knew something no child should have to know, and it was Stiles' fault. Stiles had told him. And then he had run.

They barely knew each other, but Daemyn barely knew anyone in this world. Stiles was all he had. They were related, but Stiles didn't know if that made them family. Or if he wanted it to. His thoughts kept returning to how alone Daemyn was now. He had no one. Stiles pressed his hand against his chest, feeling the shape of the garnet. Would Daemyn still come if he called?

Stiles ran his tongue across his lips. He may not have known what he wanted, but he couldn't just leave Daemyn alone. He was a kid, even younger than Stiles. A faerie who grew up in another dimension, but still a kid.

A knock came at his bedroom door. "Stiles," his father called, and Stiles realized for the first time that he was a _grandfather_ and didn't even know it. "Derek Hale is glaring at your window from the tree out front. I think the neighbors have noticed."

Stiles burrowed deeper into his blankets. He didn't want to talk.

"Stiles."

"Go away, Derek," he said, too softly for his father to hear. He knew Derek would though. When his father knocked again and called in a more worried voice, Stiles shouted, "I'm trying to sleep." His father left, but Stiles wasn't sure if Derek did.

**~.x.~**

Daemyn had cleaned out the corpses. They were buried outside the cave in shallow graves beneath an oak tree. Daemyn had marked them with riverbed stones and California poppies. He used to borrow his mother's crystal to watch people from this dimension, so he knew they liked to mark where they left their dead.

He found a crude, weak crystal in the cave. It didn't work like his mother's had, but it still worked. When he looked into it, he saw his father huddled in a dark place at the center of a mound of blankets. Daemyn closed his mind's eye after that. It was nothing he wanted to see.

The cave was easy to clean except for the blood. He sorted the dead people's possessions. The useful things—the crystal, the glass knife, provisions, and a handwritten beastiary—Daemyn kept. The rest he added to the grave markers. The blood stains he covered with the woman's sleeping bag and a tarp he found in her pack. He cleaned the brother's sleeping bag in the river and used it to sleep in. Daemyn had burned the azalea and spider web even though fire was dangerous. He had been angry when he saw them because they reminded him of how she had lied.

Sometimes Daemyn heard the sound of rift riders passing through dimensions, like the soft patter of rain in the night. His mother said only the fae could hear those spells, but his mother said a lot of things. The sound reminded him of home. Maybe he should return. That dimension had been empty, but it was beautiful once he got past the wastelands. Without his mother holding him back, maybe Daemyn could make friends with the rift riders. He could join them and hop from dimension to dimension, living as a group instead of alone. Maybe he could tell them how the pack here called them 'unicorns' and share a good laugh.

His mother told him they travelled in groups because they were too weak to survive alone. She said the same of humans.

Well, a _human_ had killed her. Daemyn scowled into the night and curled into a ball in a dead man's sleeping bag in a bloodstained cave.

**~.x.~**

The sound of a door woke Stiles. He swung out his right arm, aiming for a snooze button he couldn't reach from here, and fell back asleep right up until the closet door rammed against his head. Stiles gripped where it hurt with his right hand. He tried to sit up and move his left hand to his head too, but Stiles got tangled in his blankets and fell back to the floor.

"Whayya wan'?" He mumbled with his face smashed against the carpet.

"It's been a while since I found you in here," his dad said.

Stiles reopened one eye and turned to look up at his father. He looked worried. Of course he did. It was always either that or disappointed, and sleeping in the closet was not a failure per se. "I thought I locked my door." Stiles began untangling himself.

"You did."

"That's usually a sign to keep out." Stiles managed to free his left arm and started on his legs.

"Dads get special privileges." He sat down in the doorway of Stiles closet. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

Stiles began finding a way back into the blankets.

"Is it Derek?"

"What?" Stiles looked at his father like he'd gone crazy because so far as Stiles could tell, Derek was fantastic. "No."

"Then what is it?" He leaned back against the doorframe and made a face before shifting his back against it.

"I don't want to talk about it." Stiles sat with a sheet over his shoulder and a comforter stuck behind his knees, staring at the floor between them.

"Stiles." He bent down and reached across the space between them. "You don't have to hide things from me."

"Yes," he said, "I do." Stiles pulled back from his father's touch. There was so much he couldn't tell him even now that he knew about the supernatural parts of Stiles' life. Well, most of the supernatural parts of Stiles' life.

"Come on, Stiles. It's not like you killed anyone."

"Yes I did." He felt something slip over his face as he said the words. He knew it had been twisted with his worry and pain before, but the muscles of his face relaxed now. The ragged place inside him was cold at the thought. "Her name was Thera. She was trying to kill me. I killed her first."

He saw an echo of his own mask on his father's face. Slowly, it cracked away to reveal compassion as he reached a hand toward Stiles. "So it was self defense. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I don't feel bad for killing her," Stiles said. "I'm glad she's dead." Whatever had relaxed his expression fell away, and Stiles mouth stretched into a wicked grin. "I wish I could kill her again."

His father moved into the closet and wrapped Stiles in a hug. "No you don't." His voice cracked.

Stiles raise his hands to look at them. "I wish I could kill her with my hands," he said. "Is it ironic that I killed her with her own spell?" Stiles laughed as his hands shook, and his dad stroked the back of his head.

"It's okay, Stiles," he whispered.

"I don't want it to be." He screamed this time and pushed his father away. "I don't want you to be okay with it." He scrambled back but hit the wall inside the closet. The hems of his jackets brushed the top of his head. "Why is it okay?"

"Because it's not your fault."

"That doesn't mean it's not my problem." Stiles let his father hold him again even though only one of them knew they weren't just talking about Thera dying. He buried his face against his father's shoulder and cried until his eyes grew scratchy and his throat was sore.

His father took him downstairs and fed him orange juice and cereal like he did when Stiles was a child. He kept looking at him like he had something to say and kept looking away like it wasn't time yet. When Stiles finished his breakfast, they sat for a long time. Stiles wanted to hide in his closet again because he was afraid of screaming or laughing or crying or saying something he shouldn't.

"Stiles," his father said at last. He started some other word, choked on it, took a deep breath, and started over. "I got a call one night: anonymous report of someone holding up the convenience store at the edge of town." Stiles could guess which one he meant. It smelled like a dirty toilet, and the owner wore a bullet proof vest and spat a lot. "We figured it was more than likely true and headed over, guessing the guys would be gone by the time we got there and we'd get a report from the owner." He ran a hand over his eyes. "When we arrived, there was a man in a knitted ski mask. We could see him through the window, pointing his gun at the owner with one hand and waving the other around like he thought the owner was stupid. This was before he started wearing that vest of his, so he probably was stupid, standing there with his arms crossed and shaking his head." He shook his own head, and Stiles mirrored the gesture half-consciously. "We treated it like a hostage situation, but no one in Beacon Hills has training for that. We screwed it up, made him angry. He didn't shoot the owner, but he shot my partner." He was quiet for a moment. "So I shot him. Right here." He pressed a finger against his throat. "I thought I was aiming for his shoulder, but I wanted him dead more than I wanted him arrested. I got what I wanted."

Stiles didn't have anything to say to that. He rubbed the thumb of one hand against the palm of the other.

"I went to a therapist. It helped."

"I don't want therapy, Dad." Stiles hunched forward over his hands.

"Few people _want_ it." He set his hand over Stiles' hands, forcing them to stillness. "But if you need it, just... don't be afraid to ask."

"Yeah, thanks, Dad." Stiles didn't think he meant it, but it must have sounded sincere to his father's ears.

**~.x.~**

Derek came back again that night, and Stiles shouted at his father until he had permission to come in. Then he shut, locked, and barricaded the door. Derek kept staring at the desk in front of the door and making his hands too still, like he wanted to do something and kept stopping himself. Stiles tried to ignore it. He grabbed a fistful of Derek's shirt and jerked him close enough to shove their mouths together. When Derek pulled away and muttered something about Stiles' father, Stiles took Derek's bottom lip between his teeth and bit down harder than he should have.

He didn't know what he wanted. What he got was Derek pushing him away more forcefully and telling him to calm down. He rubbed a spot of blood from his lip, but the bite had already healed. Stiles watched him. They were together now so far as he could tell, but neither of them knew what 'together' meant or how they should go about being it. Derek seemed to think it meant he could sit close to Stiles and smile with the corners of his lips, but that wasn't what Stiles wanted right now. He wanted... He wanted... He didn't know. He wanted something. The want carved itself out of his chest. Stiles needed to fill the emptiness of it. As Derek tried to calm him down, to run a hand along his back and whisper something soothing in his ear, Stiles realized what he wanted.

He wanted to burn something. To eat away at it, ruin it, break it, and transform it. Stiles licked his lips and looked past his eyelashes at Derek. Stiles could do that to him, he knew. Derek still had secrets and sheltered places, but he trusted Stiles enough to be warm and soft around him instead of hard and angry. That was an opening, a hole in his armor. Stiles bit his own lip and imagined how it would feel to break someone as strong as Derek. Stiles was weak. He was useless. No one would believe he had power over Derek. But he did.

Stiles closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe slowly, in and out. He didn't want to hurt Derek. He liked Derek. He wanted to spend time with Derek. He wanted Derek to hold him tightly until the world slipped away. He shouldn't have to remind himself of that.

Besides, Derek had already burned.

"I told my dad," he said instead of all the other things he could have. "About what I did to Thera."

"What did he say?"

Stiles clenched his fists, one against Derek's chest and the other at his side. "That it wasn't my fault."

"Why are you angry then?"

Stiles scowled. "Like you have a right to ask. You're always angry."

Instead of answering, Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles and pulled him in close. He probably knew he couldn't deny it. With his ear pressed against Derek's throat, Stiles could hear the beat of his heart. If he'd been bitten instead of Scott, Stiles wouldn't need to be this close to hear it. He wouldn't have to feel so powerless, and maybe he'd be of some use to his friends. Even though Derek had never offered, Stiles thought he would give him the bite if he asked. Stiles didn't ask.

"What would you do if the kid was yours?"Stiles buried his face deeper against Derek's neck to keep his expression hidden. He thought Derek would know who he meant.

"I don't know."

"You'd probably insist on some violent training regime." Stiles set his teeth against the skin of Derek's neck then slid his tongue out to taste the skin. Derek tensed.

"I still could if you want." Even though he tried to hide it, Stiles could hear the tightness his voice.

This time Stiles dug his teeth into the skin. He felt the throb of Derek's pulse with his tongue, and it raced as he held the bite. Stiles pressed his body tighter against Derek's and shifted his teeth to a smaller mouthful of skin so he could suck on it. Derek's body went rigid against Stiles. His fingers dug into Stiles' back and hip. One hand slid up to grip the back of his neck. Stiles wanted to lean into the touch, but he wanted to sink his teeth deeper into Derek more.

Derek gasped and broke away when Stiles' teeth broke skin. "What are you doing?"

Stiles licked his lips slowly and pulled the bottom one between his teeth. "I don't know," he admitted when Derek let the silence linger. "Does it matter? You'll heal anyway." He ran his tongue along the edges of his teeth.

Derek frowned. "That's not the point."

"What _is_ the point then?" Stiles wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

"The point is I didn't come here to be _used."_ Derek snarled.

Stiles almost tried to deny it. He backed away from Derek until he hit the bed and collapsed onto it. By the time Stiles looked for him, Derek was gone. He had left the window open. Stiles dad knocked at the door and reminded Stiles that it stayed open when Derek visited. Stiles listened to him turn the knob, knock again, shout, and ram against the door.

"Go away, Dad," Stiles said before his father could break down the door.

"And leave you alone in there, unsupervised, with him? I don't think so." He beat rhythmically against the door. "Open up."

"Derek left." Stiles surprised himself by shouting. "I already drove him off." He didn't hear what his father answered because he was too busy screaming for him to go away. Stiles crawled into his closet and willed the world to stop turning so he would stop ruining everything.


	15. Spider Silk

"What are you doing here?" Isaac's confusion was honest, but that made it no less cutting. He raised his arms to indicate the clearing outside the spider caves as the others watched, waiting for Stiles to excuse himself and leave.

Stiles tried not to look helpless. He doubted it worked with the cave looming over him. "I'm going too."

Derek frowned. "You should stay here." He might as well have screamed, 'You have no power now,' but Stiles had never let that stop him before.

"I'm going too." Stiles spoke slowly, with force behind each short word. Scott was his best friend, and Stiles would be part of his rescue. There was more—he wanted to look out for Derek, Daemyn, and the others—but they could argue those points with the emptiness gripping Stiles where magic used to. He tried not to look at Derek too hard since he still didn't know what they were or if they were fighting or if there was a 'they' to be fighting.

No one agreed, but no one continued to argue either. Stiles would be going to another dimension to rescue a werewolf from unicorns. If he hadn't been so terrified, Stiles might have laughed. As it was, he tried to be discreet as he watched Daemyn. The boy looked so much like Thera it hurt.

Daemyn knelt at the mouth of a web. Sheets of silvery silk stretched out from a hole at the center, twisting in imitation of a scifi movie portal. The funnel stretched back, but Stiles couldn't tell how far. Daemyn reached a hand forward and held it palm-out toward the hole. Stiles beat back a pang of envy. Daemyn must have felt something Stiles couldn't and reached forward. His hand entered the web curled as if to grip a wand. Nothing happened for a long time. The others who were going—Isaac, Derek, and Allison—shifted nervously. Though Stiles saw no change, Daemyn pulled his hand from the funnel. It exited wrapped around a long, silver cone. It was made of a spiraling material in reverse of the funnel web. It looked to be built of a mass of silver threads. Stiles wondered if it was made of spider silk or just imitated the structure of the web. The original web fell into dust when the wand left it.

As he stood from his crouch staring into the web, Daemyn pressed his finger to the tip of the horn. The silk pattern twisted there into a sharp point. Stiles almost told him to be careful, but as a bead of blood welled where the horn had touched, Stiles remembered blood had been in the plan all along. He thought that instant of protectiveness was a good sign, that it meant he could care for Daemyn eventually. He had already decided he needed to try because it was that or leave the boy completely alone, but responsibility was not the same as love.

The bead of blood slid from Daemyn's fingertip and down the silver wand. Daemyn let his empty hand drop and raised the wand. He swung it in a downward arc like a sword. Stiles neither saw nor felt what happened. One moment Daemyn swung his wand in the forest, and the next they stood in a rocky crevice. Stiles was sad to have missed the spell. It would have been spectacular.

Derek motioned for everyone to follow him as he crept up the uneven slope to see out of the crevice. He stared and sniffed into the night. If twitching his ears could have made him hear better, Stiles was certain Derek would have done it. He turned back toward them and motioned down along the crevice. They began walking that way.

They found the unicorns when they found water. It wasn't Stiles' idea of a desert oasis so much as a brownish puddle. A unicorn girl bent over the dirty water and drew some out with a bucket. Then she set the bucket down and dipped her horn into the water. The murkiness leeched out to leave clear, sparkling water. That was about the time the unicorns noticed the pack. The larger ones, both human and animal, bent to point their horns at Stiles and his companions.

Derek raised his hands in front of him. "We're just looking for one of our own."

One of the unicorns tossed her hair. "If yours has wandered here, then it's ours now," she said with a hand on her hip. "Go back the way you came."

Derek growled, and his eyes flashed alpha-red. "He is ours."

The woman laughed. "I think I know the one you mean." She snapped her fingers, and a unicorn shuffled out from a nearby tent with his back hunched and his eyes fixed on his feet. As he moved, Stiles spotted the face behind his mess of hair. It was Scott. "I think it's too late for him," the unicorn leader finished.

This time Derek didn't just growl. It sounded more like a roar, and Stiles recognized it as a werewolf's howl. Isaac joined his howl to Derek's. Allison readied her crossbow, and Daemyn raised the spider-silk wand like a weapon. Stiles sighed. He could not fight and merely stepped forward slowly, hopinh he looked more threatening than he felt.

"He should be older," Stiles said because this had to be the same place where Daemyn grew up almost instantly, but it couldn't have been more than a year for Scott.

"We were in a cavern with a deep pond instead of here," Scott said, and the unicorn backhanded him.

"You are one of us now. They are not your family." She was stern more than fanatic. Even though the blow didn't seem to have hurt Scott much less force him back, he looked ashamed and chastened.

Scott, Stiles realized, had bought the unicorn's shit.

He wondered how much of that depended on the horn now rising from Scott's forehead. Hopefully, it could be removed. The pack had expected to find Scott as a captive, not an initiate, but in a way, this made more sense. The unicorns appeared along with rifts, so they were most likely a nomadic band traveling from dimension to dimension. They must have picked up new members along the way as people slipped through the rifts left by the combined forces of dimensional drift and unicorn travel.

But they kept Scott in the cave, in Thera's pocket dimension by the sound of it. Scott hadn't slipped through. He had been taken.

Daemyn was roughly thirteen years old. Thera must have hopped dimensions right after leaving Stiles' house that night. She had wanted to return. The unicorns were in tents and crude shacks, not anything meant to be permanent, so Stiles' guess that they moved a lot was probably right. Except that the first person in Beacon Hills went missing not long after Thera left, according to the file Stiles had peeked at while his father slept. That meant the unicorns had been here nearly thirteen years as well.

The others had continued talking, or mostly threatening, while Stiles thought. They stood nearer the unicorns now, and Allison did most of the coherent talking. Scott had wolfed out too but seemed not to know which side he was one. Stiles didn't bother to catch up. He couldn't fight anyway.

The unicorns had taken Scott and kept him in a cave before moving him to the camp. They had been trapped here for thirteen years while Thera kept her bridge back to Stiles open. Their camp was in the middle of nowhere. The water was dirty. There was no food except livestock bearing spider-silk horns.

"She's already dead," Stiles said, stepping forward again. The unicorns needed, or thought they needed, a werewolf to kill Thera so they could move on. "I killed Pentanthera."

"You?" The unicorn leader eyed him warily. "Is that why you're empty?"

Stiles bared his teeth before remembering he couldn't growl as the others did.

"If she's dead, you don't need me anymore. I can go home." Scott's eyes lit up, and he nearly looked like himself again.

"You still bear the horn, nimwit. And the son yet lives." The unicorn turned her eyes on Daemyn at the last.

"Leave him alone," Stiles said.

"No. Pentanthera lives in him. She has already corrupted him." She sneered. "I feel the life he took."

Stiles frowned. "It's mine. I'm sure you can feel that too."

She nodded. "Don't worry. We'll save you from her too." The others charged at a wave of her hand. Derek and Isaac met them head-on. Allison kept her distance, and her shots were aimed to wound and slow without killing. The main attack aimed for Daemyn. He retreated, but didn't make it far with such minimal cover.

"Derek," Stiles shouted to get his attention, then added, "Daemyn," to let Derek know he needed help.

Derek leapt from his current fight to race for Daemyn, but Scott stopped him.

"Sorry." Scott took a defensive stance. He almost looked non-threatening except that he barred Derek from helping Daemyn.

Daemyn was powerful. He forced unicorns back, but never far enough. They charged again and again. The rest of the pack had their own opponents, and Stiles wondered why they had brought so few. But the wand could only carry so many so far.

The unicorn leader moved into position without nearing Daemyn. She bent her head forward and shouted with her horn aimed at Daemyn. It released a blast, and he fell back. The unicorn's attack hadn't knocked him out, but the other unicorns reached Daemyn as he stumbled to his feet.

Daemyn went down again.

Someone shouted Stiles' name as he ran forward. He barreled into a unicorn's side, but Daemyn couldn't take the opening to escape. He lay on his back, bleeding from gashes on his arms and chest and trying to knock the unicorns away. Someone grabbed Stiles and held him.

"I don't want to hurt you," a soft, light voice said in his ear. "You've helped us with the mother-fae. Just let us finish it."

They held Daemyn down against the ground now. Their horns glowed even to Stiles' magic-blind eyes. The unicorn leader stood above Daemyn, bent to aim her horn at his heart. She glanced at Stiles as the light in her horn grew, then turned back to Daemyn and lunged.

Stiles screamed. A force in his chest quaked and crashed. The unicorn flew back, away from both Stiles and Daemyn. The others holding Daemyn down followed, soaring through air before crashing to the barren ground.

A hurricane of power raged within Stiles where he'd been emptied out before. He beat the unicorns back. When their leader dared to stand again, he shattered her horn. Blood poured past the broken edges and streamed down her face as she screamed. The unicorn who had held Stiles tried to push him down, but he gripped her horn and pulled it from her forehead. She shrieked but silenced quickly and died before hitting the ground.

They called the animals, all bearing horns as well. Stiles threw a charging bull, knocked back a leaping panther, and ripped the throat from a wolf, all without moving even his hands except to grip them into fists.

The world pulsed with red light as Stiles advanced, lips pulled back in a gruesome smile. He felt the unicorns' power, and he felt his own dwarf it. An ocean of magic surged over the craters left by Thera's spell. Stiles laughed. The unicorns ran.

Stiles prepared to crush them all but paused. The grin fell from his lips, and Stiles looked at the two unicorns he had killed. He could argue self defense for Thera, but not these. With all that power—now draining away as he left it unused—Stiles could have pushed them back as easily as he had the others. But he hadn't. He had murdered them.

The magic was gone again. Stiles couldn't even sense others' magic any longer. He stumbled back from the blood-drenched unicorn with the shattered horn and tripped over the corpse of his other kill. Stiles scrambled back on his hands and feet. His mouth gaped open.

Someone said his name. More than one voice. Everyone, he realized, everyone said his name. They kept their distance. Stiles didn't blame them after what he'd just done. Scott was with them, though he'd become a unicorn since they lost him.

"She was my friend," Scott said, staring at the unicorn Stiles had tripped over. "She used to go to high school with us even though she looks older now. We had chem together."

Stiles focused on her face and tried to imagine it younger. "Sheila?" he whispered.

Scott nodded. "I was going to save her too. Find a way home for _all_ of us."

Stiles wanted to say something, but nothing could make this less horrible. Daemyn stood and stumbled toward Stiles. He fell to his knees in front of him and reached his hand toward Stiles' chest. The chain of Stiles' necklace dug into his neck and then snapped as Daemyn pulled it. Daemyn lifted his hand to stare into the garnet. Smoke rose from the gem. When Daemyn dropped it, Stiles realized the smoke had risen from his burning skin, not the stone.

He snatched Daemyn's hand. "Be careful." He studied Daemyn's palm even though there wasn't much he could do. The skin healed as he watched.

"I'm fine," Daemyn said, snatching his hand away. "I heal." He tapped the garnet where it had returned to rest against Stiles' chest. "You may not."

"Why? What does it do?" Stiles gripped the stone. It didn't burn him.

"I can't tell." He sounded scared.

Derek lifted Stiles by his armpits. "We need to go. Figure it out later."

Daemyn retrieved the wand from where he'd fallen. Once Allison and Isaac joined them, Daemyn swung the wand in an upward streak. Before Stiles could even blink, the woods outside Beacon Hills replaced the unicorn camp.

"This is awesome, guys, but I've still got..." Scott pointed at his horn. "And you saw what happened when..." He cringed.

"When I killed Sheila by pulling off her horn." Stiles' voice was quiet but hard.

"Maybe Deaton can help," Allison offered.

Scott brightened up. "Yeah, maybe."

Stiles leaned against Derek's side. He felt wrung out, emptied, and beaten. But they had Scott back.

**~.x.~**

Deaton shook his head. "There's nothing I can do."

"There has to be something," Scott pleaded. "I can't stay like this."

"I can't break the bond between you and the horn without killing you. But," he lifted an index finger. "Some of the others may be able to do more."

"Like what?" Scott looked torn between hope and despair.

"Daemyn and Cassie did not fashion this wand, but they do have experience with another. Maybe they can see something I can't."

Cassie understood then why she'd been called here, though it had a lot to do with Deaton overestimating her. "All I did was build a web," she reminded him from where she leaned beside the door.

"No," Deaton said, "You built a portal, and Daemyn fashioned the portal into a wand."

Daemyn crossed his arms. He stood beside Stiles, who looked ready to collapse even with Derek helping him stand. When Daemyn spoke, it was with something like a pout to his lips. It made him look even younger than usual. "You want me to link with her and with him and his horn, and keep track of them, and find a way to safely sever the bond?" His tone said it was a lot of work. Cassie wouldn't know.

"Yes." Deaton was clearly unimpressed with Daemyn's tone.

"Please?" Scott was far less certain.

Stiles put a shaky hand on Daemyn's arm. "Please."

Daemyn nodded with his eyes on Stiles. Cassie wondered when he would have done enough to make his accidental role in Stiles' near-death right. She thought it cruel of Stiles to hold it against one so young, but then Stiles' manner hadn't been forceful. Maybe Daemyn was the one holding it against himself.

Cassie stepped forward to where Scott sat on the edge of Deaton's operating table with his feet dangling off the side. Daemyn stood beside her and took her hand in his.

"It's easier this way," he explained. "We're going to be in each others' minds. It may be disorienting. Do not vomit on me. Or as me."

Cassie nodded because she didn't know how else to respond. Her vision doubled so she saw both Daemyn sliding up and down as she nodded and he own head bobbing in agreement. She stopped nodding.

Daemyn reached for Scott's hand too. Through their link, Cassie felt another sort of reaching, like part of Daemyn's soul stretched out toward Scott's. There were other links between Cassie and each of the boys. Dizziness overwhelmed Cassie, and she closed her eyes against it only to see through two other pairs of eyes.

The link to Scott stretched, flowing like water though him and into his horn. The horn felt a lot like being the werespider had. It wasn't so much the lack of control as the aspect of the power. Daemyn and Scott shared Cassie's perception via the bonds. Daemyn knew the similarity made sense because of the spider connection. The wand he created had also felt like this.

Scott was watching Allison. Her heart beat erratically with nervousness, and she kept pacing and running her hand through her hair. She stopped occasionally to stare at Scott for long moments. Cassie felt her worry for Allison melding with Scott's and tugged both their minds back to the horn.

Daemyn explored the horn. It reminded Cassie of the structure of her funnel web. She felt it spreading beyond her understanding, but this time she had Daemyn's mind. The magic here reminded him of travelling between dimensions. The horn was stronger than the web Thera had used; that one had been a framework meant to be powered by the fae themselves and used only once. The horn was also weaker than the wand, which could carry multiple people, if only for a short time. The limitation to just one person meant the horn was long-lasting though. The web in the cave had frayed as soon as Daemyn stepped through, and the wand had shattered before they made it to the veterinary clinic.

The web and wand had both relied on spellcasting to work, but the horn would do all the work for Scott, who had no magic of his own. He had learned other things the horn would do for him too, like purifying water and healing minor wounds. Some of the unicorns had trained to do more with their horns, but Scott had neither the inclination nor the talent.

Then they reached where the horn latched into Scott. To their eyes it looked like his forehead, but their minds felt it cling throughout his body. It even flowed through his blood, reminding Daemyn of the spell to leech Thera's magic back from Stiles. Daemyn recoiled from that thought and locked it away before Cassie and Scott could hear more.

"I can't manipulate this," he said for the others in the room. Cassie and Scott could already feel that Daemyn lacked the finesse for this. He was just a kid. He wasn't trained for this. Most of his power was new. He'd always been useless to Thera, always—he remembered the bond too late and pushed aside those thoughts.

"It's like a web," Cassie said, mentally tracing the threads between the horn and Scott.

"Could you pick apart a web thread by thread?" Deaton asked in a voice that said he knew the answer already.

"No. Might as well unpaint a painting stroke by stroke." It couldn't be done. She couldn't even see where to start.

"Is there a way to erase it instead of taking it apart?" Scott asked.

A spell would have to change the horn entirely before its claws could be nullified. The nature of the connection made its removal fatal. "No," Daemyn voiced the thought he'd already shared. "Not unless we could make it not a unicorn horn, which is the problem in the first place."

"What if someone could change it?" Stiles asked. By the upward turn of his dangerously blue lips, Cassie knew this wasn't hypothetical. Daemyn and Scott hoped he didn't mean whatever had come out of him at the unicorn camp. They were afraid both of Stiles and for Stiles. Cassie told herself there wasn't time to dig for why.

"Who could do that?" She forced herself to ask instead.

"Lydia Martin." Cassie hated the way he said her name. Everyone knew he and Derek were together—or as close together as they could manage given how emotionally stunted they both were—but Stiles still coated Lydia's name with all the honey his voice could hold like just being near enough to know her was some sort of blessing. Scott was pretty sure Stiles didn't know any other way to say it. Daemyn thought Derek _wasn't_ Stiles' boyfriend and decided to ask about that later.

Whatever the others thought, Lydia's name always sounded to Cassie like the word, 'immune.' Through the bond, she knew Scott had never thought to envy Lydia even though he resented the bite. Scott told her not to, and Cassie felt like a terrible person because she couldn't stop hating Lydia.

"It's worth trying," Deaton admitted, so Stiles pulled out his phone and called Lydia.

Daemyn dropped the bond, and Cassie was only herself again.

**~.x.~**

Stiles wanted Lydia to mess up some sort of spell again. Someday she needed to understand whatever her immunity was so she could use it herself. Lydia hated being a tool for someone else to use. Still, he said it was for Scott, so Lydia had gotten into her car and driven to Deaton's veterinary clinic.

She found them inside, and took a long moment to study Scott's new unicorn horn. It wasn't the only thing that had changed. His clothes were worn out. His hair was long and tangled, and he needed a bath. The horn stood out though. She noticed Daemyn beside him and remembered that Stiles couldn't be the one to use her now that he'd lost his power. Lydia imagined the slimy feeling of Stiles slipping through the weakest parts of her and steeled herself to feel the same from a stranger who had nearly killed her friend.

"Okay," she said with the smile she used at parties she knew would end in a fight, "I'm here." She raised her arms to question what they wanted of her now.

Stiles pushed off from where he'd been leaning against Derek. By the way his legs shook, Lydia thought that was a mistake. Stiles looked worse than Scott did, if cleaner. "The horn is bonded to Scott, and removing it will kill him. Daemyn and Cassie think if we can change the nature of the bond to something that won't kill him, they'll be able to take it out."

"That's what I'm here for then." Lydia eyed Cassie even though she spoke to Stiles. This meant it would be not just the evil fae spawn but also the giant spider bitch crawling around inside her mind. Hadn't Peter Hale been enough?

Lydia shivered at the memory. Daemyn took her hand without warning, but he quickly let go and shook his head.

"Just try," Stiles insisted. "If you take her with you to the horn, she'll handle the rest."

"I'll do what?" Lydia asked. She'd never 'handled' anything like this. The magic here was Daemyn's job.

"It's not much different from when you slid through Thera's spell for me to save Scott." He smiled encouragingly, but Lydia hadn't done anything then either. And Stiles had forgotten to mention when Lydia failed to reach through Thera's protection to save Jenneva Cole.

Lydia reminded herself not to frown. It would leave ugly lines on her face. "I didn't do anything," she admitted. "I just stood there while you made everything work."

Stiles stared at her with his mouth hanging open. "You mean you did all that without being aware of it?"

"I don't even know what I did, much less how." She put her hands on her hips. "I thought you all would know how to handle this."

Deaton had left the room when Daemyn dropped Lydia's hand and returned now with incense and a burner. In moments, the room stank of the stuff. He claimed it would help ground them to make saving Scott easier, but all it was going to do for Lydia was give her a headache. She smiled and thanked him anyway, not that she let anyone mistake it for sincere.

"If you did it by instinct before, maybe you can again," Daemyn said.

Lydia didn't bother to insist again that she'd done nothing. "Let's just see what happens then," she said because Scott was her friend and deserved her best try. And he was giving her the puppy dog eyes.

Daemyn nodded and took her hand. He took Cassie's hand next and told them to take each of Scott's hands. By their expressions, the others were concentrating on something, but Lydia missed out on whatever that was. She just knew everyone was staring at her and Scott. Daemyn frowned. Lydia guessed that meant nothing was happening.

"She's not here with us," Daemyn said.

Stiles rolled his eyes and stepped forward. He broke into their circle, taking Daemyn and Lydia's hands.

"You can't work magic," Daemyn reminded him.

"Just link me in."

By the way Daemyn stared at Stiles, something must have happened. Scott just looked confused and Cassie nervous. Stiles' eyes had gone glassy, but his grip on Lydia's hand was firm.

"Did she do that to you, or was it me?" Daemyn finally whispered.

"Not now, Daemyn." There was something more there, but Lydia couldn't tell what. By their expressions, neither could Cassie or Scott despite their mental link to Stiles and Daemyn. "Lydia," Stiles said, turning to focus on her. His eyes lost some, but not all, of the glassiness. "I'm sorry, but we'll have to punch through into you. This is too delicate to work blind."

"Stiles." Deaton's voice bore an unmistakable note of warning.

"I know. It's dangerous. Will you do it?" He directed that last part back to Lydia instead of Deaton. It was strange seeing him so serious. Lydia knew she had before, but it caught her by surprise every time.

"It's more than dangerous." Deaton moved to the edge of the circle. "It could tear you apart, Lydia, to force you into a circle you're closed to."

Lydia's first instinct was to drop Stiles' and Scott's hands and run. She'd been invaded and unraveled before and never wanted to face that again. But Stiles expected her to agree and then to succeed. She saw it in his eyes and felt it in the squeeze he gave her hand. Scott watched her with wide eyes, biting his lip. He was too nice to ask her to risk herself, even if he knew he had no other chance. Daemyn watched Stiles. He looked afraid. Cassie's face twisted in concentration, like she was already deciding how to move forward without Lydia's help. That shouldn't have been what decided Lydia. But it was.

"Let's do this." She tightened her grip on Stiles' and Scott's hands.

Stiles nodded. "I remember a shattered place from before. I'm going to lead the others there, and we'll push against it. Try to pull us in through the cracks. It will be easiest this way." She knew by his tone it wouldn't be easy. He wanted her to weaken herself to them after all the effort she put into appearing strong and confident. Lydia was only just recovering from what Peter Hale had done to her, and now Stiles said the only way to save Scott was to break her again.

Deaton crossed his arms, shook his head, and walked away.

Lydia took a deep breath and nodded. She focused on the feeling of Peter creeping through her mind. She tried to imagine the paths he had made himself like the tunnels of an ant colony running through her mind and open to the circle. They wouldn't use her to return from the dead, she reminded herself. At least not until after they'd died.

Something crashed through her. It wasn't Stiles, or at least Lydia thought she would recognize him if it was. After a moment, Lydia knew it was Daemyn working from Stiles' memories. This was different from last time when she'd felt a foreign presence slip into her. This was more like they melded together. The whole group shared minds, though Lydia saw immediately that it was limited. She shut out her broken place and brought the circle to the front of her mind where she could control what they felt from her.

The others showed her the problem. Cassie carried her along the web spreading from the horn into Scott. Daemyn showed her the magic he couldn't quite use to separate the horn and the impossibility of severing the threads one-by-one. Stiles showed her in graphic detail what would happen if they failed. Scott smiled and sent waves of confidence in her and the others. None of them showed her _how._

Lydia let go of Scott's hand because it wasn't him she needed to change. She took hold of the horn.

The only thing she knew for sure was that magic changed when it touched her, so this time she touched it. The horn recognized her as a threat. Scott wolfed out, and Lydia felt through the bond how the horn ordered him to defend it. But Allison approached and put her arms hesitantly around Scott to calm him down. It worked, though Cassie seemed angry at the interruption, and Stiles was overwhelmingly exasperated with Scott. Lydia and Allison would have stern words about mixed signals and keeping her distance later. For now, Lydia was grateful Allison had saved her from a new werewolf bite. The horn kept trying to command Scott, so Lydia told it to stop blabbering.

Daemyn let her know there was no reason that would work, but the horn shut up all the same. Lydia smirked and made sure Daemyn understood that she demanded obedience. Cassie thought something sly and unkind but covered it up before Lydia could catch more. Instead she sent something that made no sense about vibrations along a spider's web. Lydia knew vibrations alerted a spider to the presence of prey, but she couldn't tell why Cassie bothered with them now.

Stiles wanted them to stop fighting even though they weren't fighting. Daemyn regretted bringing so many people into the circle, and Stiles offered to drop out. He looked about ready to drop dead to be honest, though he didn't much appreciate Lydia thinking so or everyone else agreeing. Then Stiles was gone. He was still next to her physically until he stumbled back. Derek caught Stiles before he fell, picked him up, and carried him to a chair. Stiles glared at everyone for a moment before grinning wickedly and making Derek rearrange him _just so_ because he was 'uncomfortable.'

Daemyn was relieved to have Stiles out of the circle. Bonding with him was hard, though Daemyn managed to block why. Scott urged them to get on with it already, so Cassie guided Lydia back to the horn and carried her along the key threads that reached from the horn at the center to the outer reaches of Scott's mind. Lydia took a moment to appreciate that not everything in there was Allison and Cheetos. Scott was offended by her surprise but eventually admitted that he _did_ spend a lot of time thinking about Allison. And snacks. And snacks with Allison. And how cute Allison looked with a milk mustache. And—Lydia cut him off there and reminded him she was supposed to be saving him, not puking.

From Daemyn, Lydia learned to picture the key threads as barbed rather than smooth. They latched into Scott and held the horn in place. Pulling on them would only shred him. That shredding was what had killed the unicorn whose death Stiles had shared with the group. A stray thought from Scott claimed Stiles had been the one to kill the unicorn. Lydia glanced over her shoulder. Stiles didn't look like a killer to her, but Daemyn and Scott agreed that he'd done it. Cassie had locked her thoughts down tightly by this point. Lydia made an effort to return to the horn and its barbed threads. The others joined her.

Lydia ran her mind along the barbed threads, ignoring the smooth ones for now. She gripped the horn in her fist so tightly it almost pushed Scott to shift again. At Daemyn's urging, Lydia tried to push _herself_ into the web. She imagined melding with it as she had with the circle. The horn resisted, but Lydia trampled it through force of will until she ran along its web in Scott's mind. The barbed threads became smooth beneath her stamping. Cassie and Daemyn pulled the web until Scott's horn fell from his forehead on its own. It left behind a nasty red mark that reminded Lydia of the gaping mouth of Cassie's funnel web. Through Daemyn, she even felt the hole where the horn had burrowed into him. Scott reached a hand to the tender skin in disbelief. The unicorns told him it was impossible. Scott grinned and pushed waves of gratitude through the bond. Then Daemyn let it drop.

Lydia felt emptied out in her first moments without the bond, like there had been so much to her, and now she was only a silly girl. Once the mental emptiness faded, Lydia realized the spellwork had drained her physically as well. She leaned against the operating table as Scott hopped off it. The more seconds passed, the weaker Lydia felt. Before she fell, someone caught her and lifted her onto the table.

"I'm surprised she lasted this long after what you did to her," Deaton said.

Stiles leaned over her, though a hand pressed against his chest to hold him up. He stared down at Lydia for a long time. "I'm not."

Lydia had already known that Stiles believed she could and would do anything. He always knew she could make things right, even if neither of them knew how. Until now she had never thought he also pushed her into danger because he was cold.


	16. All In Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on Beta Sasha's comment that it seemed I was making fun of a character's intelligence in this chapter, I want to clarify that I do not understand why one cannot divide by zero. I would guess it's related to the impossibility of partitioning something by nothing, but I've seen math do crazier stuff before breakfast, so... ya idk bro. So when a character in this chapter makes a comment about not getting it, please understand that I believe someone can be both smart and know that a rule exists without understanding the reasoning behind it to its fullest extent. I wrote the line because I thought it was funny; that is all.

The kindling crackled and smoked as the fire took. After hours of fuming and screaming, all of Stiles rage had been too little to create a spark. He knew there was magic in him somewhere, buried deep under the barrenness in him. It wasn't an idea or a hope anymore now that he had used it, but Stiles could not find it. So he finally lit the fire with a match and hoped it would do.

Heat from the fire brushed his skin, but it reached no deeper. He fed it twigs from the forest floor and wished for more. Stiles wanted to feel it inside him and to feel himself inside it, the way he had when he'd controlled fire before. The flames consumed the twigs he fed them hungrily, but Stiles got no satisfaction from it.

This wasn't enough.

Larger sticks and small branches had fallen nearby as well, and Stiles began gathering them. Maybe he just needed more. It wouldn't be the same no matter what he did, but Stiles just needed to get by. He began building up the fire. It became hotter and stronger, and the comparison only made Stiles feel colder and emptier.

"Mother always told me not to play with fire."

Stiles had come here alone, but when he turned, he found Daemyn standing behind him.

"Fae are powerful, but fire is harder for us than other elements. We save it for important spells." Daemyn squatted beside Stiles and stared at the flames. "You didn't have any trouble with it."

Stiles sighed. "I felt like part of the fire." He pressed a hand against his chest and clenched it.

"At the clinic you said, 'Not now.' It's not then anymore." Daemyn brushed aside some leaves with the toe of his sneaker.

It had been two days. Stiles and Daemyn hadn't spoken since then even though Stiles had thought he wanted to help the boy. "Fine," he said because they had to start somewhere.

"You're not just empty." He struggled visibly with how to continue even though he hadn't exactly started out delicately. "I don't think the others felt it, but you're," he paused and moved to squat beside Stiles, "It's like you're all in pieces, and each one is trying to fly in a different direction, but none of them can get away from the black pit of you."

"I think most people are like that." Stiles moved his hand over the topmost tongues of flame. "If everyone was cohesive and put-together, the world would run more smoothly."

"Not as much."

"Yeah, and how many people do you know?"

"Enough." Daemyn lifted a stick from Stiles' pile and touched its end to the fire. It caught the stick and moved along it, burning away the fuel. "I still want to know if it was her or me."

Stiles took the stick from Daemyn and dropped it into the fire before the boy burned his hand. "I don't know," he admitted because he wasn't sure what else to say. "I think it's a lot of things." Stiles felt something slip away because he couldn't deny it now. He was messed up. He remembered thinking the scars were invisible, but Daemyn had seen them easily enough. "I don't think it's your fault though," he added for Daemyn.

"I should have known better."

"Dude, you're thirteen, and she was your mother."

"Well, you're my father. Shouldn't that have meant something too?"

Stiles shook his head. "You grew up without me."

"Yeah, you'd be a lot older otherwise."

Stiles snorted, and his breath sent the flames dancing away for a moment. He decided to build up the fire more. If he kept going, he could pile it up to a bonfire and watch it eat away at something massive. "I'm literally not old enough to have a teenage son," he said even though he wasn't sure Daemyn should hear it.

"I know."

"I've got you anyway though." He worked on the fire as he spoke, staring at wood and flame instead of at his son. "I'll convince my dad to let you stay with us. We can get you into school too. We'll say you've been homeschooled until now and tell people you're my cousin."

"You mean..." Daemyn's voice was so breathless Stiles turned from the fire to look at him. "You'll keep me?" Stiles felt like a jerk for giving Daemyn reason to look so surprised.

"Yes." He let out a long breath to stall because he didn't know how Daemyn would take the next part. "But my dad doesn't know—no one knows—well Jackson somehow knows—and Derek knows—about you."

Daemyn's eyes fell away from Stiles' and landed on the flames. "He's my grandfather."

"He doesn't know that."

"You told me before that he doesn't know anything." Daemyn's voice was bitter.

"He knows a little more, but all he knows about your mother is how she helped with Cassie, that she kidnapped me, and that I killed her when she tried to kill me."

"So he doesn't know that she—"

"Don't say it." Stiles didn't want to list the things his father didn't know about Thera. He especially didn't want Daemyn to say it.

"I used to think you were the bad guy. Or sometimes I'd imagine your were just misunderstood and once we were together I would help you be better so we could all be a family." Daemyn wrapped his arms around himself.

Stiles laughed. "What's to say I'm not the bad guy?"

"You're saying that because you feel guilty. I know; I was in your head." It seemed Daemyn'd gotten a lot more out of their mental link than Stiles had. Daemyn walked over to Stiles and picked the wood out of his arms. "I can help," he said, taking Stiles' hand. When Stiles felt Daemyn's mind reaching into his, he opened himself to it. Then Daemyn pulled both of their minds into the fire. "This is what you wanted, right?"

Stiles nodded as the flames licked away the want in his chest. It felt different from when he'd been alone, but this was the closest he could get. The wood of the fire smoked and burned as it slowly turned to ash. Daemyn added more for Stiles, building the fire up. He made it hungrier, so it consumed the wood and grew faster. Stiles let it fill him. He still wanted more.

During the draining spell, Stiles had taken control of part of Daemyn's power. He reached out to do it now, to drive the fire further so it could burn more. Daemyn stopped him.

"Don't," he said. "I won't be able to stop it."

"I don't want to stop it." Stiles wanted to burn on until there was nothing left to ruin.

"I know."

Somehow, he didn't hate Stiles for it. His mental image of Stiles was this impossible destructive force, but he didn't hate it. Stiles was taken aback by how he loomed in Daemyn's mind. As much as Stiles wanted to be the hero, he'd always been more of a goofy sidekick, except in Daemyn's mind he was the dark shadow driving the hero back. Daemyn gripped his hand too tightly and turned Stiles' urge to destroy back at him until he accepted the horror of it. Then he realized Daemyn was afraid of him, and he was right to be.

"I'm sorry," Stiles whispered because he couldn't be the person Daemyn wanted him to be.

"I know," Daemyn said again because he knew he couldn't hold it against Stiles, but he did anyway. Stiles knew he couldn't hold that bitterness against Daemyn either. He did anyway. Daemyn laughed, and Stiles thought neither of them should be old enough for such darkness. Then Stiles found something else hidden in the boy's mind. Daemyn whisked it from Stiles reach, but too late.

"You shouldn't do this again." It hurt Stiles to say because he wanted this connection to the fire. Daemyn thought it was how he would keep Stiles though, that if Stiles needed Daemyn's magic, he would need Daemyn too. That wasn't how family should work.

"But I want to." He liked helping, and he'd always been drawn to fire and darkness.

"Maybe someday, but not now." Not while they were still so unsure of each other. Stiles wasn't certain he could be a father to Daemyn, but he wanted them to have their best shot at some sort of honest relationship. Having Daemyn think Stiles stuck around for the magic would ruin that before it started. Stiles reached for Daemyn's magic again, this time to smother the flames.

**~.x.~**

When Scott went to work, he finally decided to pull Deaton aside. He'd been putting this off for too long. They entered the same room where the pack removed Scott's horn, and Scott leaned against the same table. Deaton stood across from him and watched Scott so calmly that he almost wanted to howl, just to see if the sound would startle him. He asked his question instead.

"It didn't help, did it? When Thera left?"

"Had she stayed away, it might have been enough, but ultimately, no, it didn't help."

"Isn't there anything we can do?"

"We need to separate him from the necklace."

Scott hadn't expected such a straight answer. "The necklace?"

"Thera gave it to him. It's dangerous. I've given him other stones to wear to protect him from it, but he claims to have lost them."

"You think the necklace made him lose them?" Scott wasn't sure a necklace could have that kind of power over a person, but most of what Deaton and Stiles handled made about as much sense to Scott as the reason he couldn't divide by zero.

"Essentially. I also had him hold a healing stone while in the hospital, and the garnet in his necklace rejected it."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means the garnet is still active. Usually it would have lost its magic when Thera died."

"Could it be Daemyn?" Everyone said Daemyn had been the one to cast the spell on Stiles.

Deaton nodded. "It could be, but I don't think he's doing anything consciously."

"I don't trust him." Maybe Deaton thought it was unconscious, but Scott wouldn't trust anyone who had tried to kill his best friend.

"Stiles trusts him."

"Stiles is also dating Derek. His judgment has been compromised." Scott resisted the urge to make a face at the idea of Stiles and Derek together. Allison and Cassie had both told him it was rude. But he couldn't help that they were weird together. Isaac understood at least.

Deaton leaned forward to point a finger at Scott's forehead. "Daemyn also had a hand in saving you and removing the horn."

"I know," Scott mumbled. Everyone said they literally could not have done it without Daemyn. But they said that because Stiles had no magic, and that was Daemyn's fault. Or Thera's fault, but Scott wanted them both blamed because Stiles was obviously miserable without his magic. That, Scott knew for sure. He'd felt it from Stiles when he joined the spell to remove Scott's horn.

Stiles was lost, angry, hurt, and unbearably emptied. Daemyn had done that to him, and Scott held it against him even if the blame belonged to Thera. Scott hadn't been there to save Stiles, and having someone to blame for everything that went wrong made it better somehow. He wasn't dumb enough to admit that to anyone though. It was selfish and petty and a lot of things Scott tried not to be.

"I think Daemyn and Lydia could help Stiles, much as they helped you."

"Why didn't you say so?"

"They need time to rest before we try anything or we could do more harm than good."

The others _had_ looked exhausted after they severed the horn. Lydia had even collapsed, and Stiles might have if Derek hadn't ushered him out of the clinic. Scott rubbed a hand against his forehead. It still felt weird to be without the horn even though he'd only had it for a matter of months.

"How long?"

"A few more days." Deaton held Scott's gaze. "I just hope we still have that long."

Then he pushed Scott out and made him feed the cats instead of answering any more questions.

**~.x.~**

"I killed his mom a little while ago, and he's been living in a cave with a super gross blood stain, and I figured, hey, this is pretty much my fault, why don't you come live in a real house with carpet where no one has recently died." Stiles gave his dad the grin that meant he was asking for something he knew he wouldn't get.

"You barely know him."

"We bound our minds magically a couple times, so we know each other pretty well."

"He tried to kill you."

"That was an accident."

"He's not human."

"Actually he's half human and half fae. Turns out Thera liked her men mortal."

"No one will believe he's your cousin."

"What because he's black? He's mixed race, so just say the Stilinski side was white as the glow of a blank word document and he takes after his mother."

"You put way too much thought into this."

"Not as much as you might think." Most of it was just the truth with a few key words left out.

"And why does he have to stay with _us?_ Why not Derek? He has a history of taking in kids he barely knows."

"I'm the reason Daemyn has nowhere else to go, and Derek doesn't like faeries."

"We would have to forge a lot of documents to get him into school. That's illegal."

"So is murder, but I've done that too. To his mother." To Sheila and the unicorn leader. Stiles remembered what his father taught him: three's a pattern.

"Stiles."

"Just a trial period? Let him stay for a little while and see if it works out. Please."

"You don't have trial periods with people."

"Sure you do, just most people call it friendship or dating."

Daemyn laughed but quickly smothered it when Stilinski looked at him.

"I can't have a kid on the streets on my conscience." Stilinski sighed so deeply Stiles knew it had to be an act. "He can stay for a few days in the guest room, but find him somewhere else after that."

Stiles bounced forward to hug his father. "Thanks, Dad!"

"Thank you, sir," Daemyn said, and as far as Stiles could tell he was speaking to the sheriff's boots.

All of Daemyn's things fit into the bag on his back, so Stiles showed him straight to his room. "He'll come 'round," he whispered when his dad was out of earshot. When Daemyn glared at him, Stiles figured he was probably thinking that he'd come around a lot faster if he knew Daemyn was his grandson. Stiles tried not to think too hard about it.

**~.x.~**

"Are you sure you want to take him in?" Derek asked as he ran a hand along Stiles' back. They lay together on the beaten down mattress Derek used for a bed with Stiles' face nuzzled against Derek's neck. Derek liked the way Stiles' eyelashes tickled him when he blinked.

"Yes."

"Or are you doing it because you feel like you have to?"

"Also yes." He kissed the skin of Derek's neck where it met his shoulder.

Derek didn't want Stiles stuck with something he didn't know how to handle. He'd been there often enough himself. "You don't have t—"

"Shut up, Derek. I made my decision." Stiles set his teeth against Derek's skin and bit down. Derek grunted in protest, but Stiles' teeth lingered as they dug into skin.

"Stiles, you need to calm down."

Stiles' heartbeat raced, and Derek could smell the arousal on him. "I don't want to calm down." He nipped a trail up Derek's neck to his earlobe and bit viciously. Derek closed his eyes and forced himself to focus.

"We can't—"

"Can't what? Have sex? I never said anything about getting naked." The way he moved his hips said otherwise.

Derek bit back a moan because, whatever else Stiles was, he was _seventeen._ "Stiles, please."

"It's just like making out." He ran his tongue down the length of Derek's jaw and to his mouth. "But with a happier ending." Stiles rutted against Derek in a way that was entirely unfair and kissed him until Derek finally remembered to push him away.

"I don't think we get 'happy endings' until you're of age."

"You are literally no fun." He shifted to sit on Derek's chest with his knees to either side of Derek's head.

"I'm at least three percent fun."

Derek watched the way Stiles' mouth twitched into a smile, but it wasn't enough to distract him. Stiles ran his thumb over Derek's lips as he bit his own. He breathed heavily through his mouth, and Derek had no doubt what he was thinking about. Maybe it would have felt good, for both of them even, but the only thing Derek knew about sex was when it wasn't about love. Stiles wanted to feel something right now, not to be with Derek.

Even though he pretended to be rough, letting Stiles fall over and yelp as he pushed him off, Derek reversed their positions gently. Stiles lay below him with his hands clenching Derek's shirt as Derek straddled his waist. He took Stiles' wrists and pushed them toward the mattress above his head and leaned down to press his lips against Stiles' ear and whispered, "Wait 'till your birthday." Derek didn't know what his excuse would be after that and hoped they'd be ready by then.

He expected Stiles to grumble and call him names, but he stared silently past Derek, still panting. His heart raced and his breath came in pained gasps. Derek flinched back like he'd been burned by Stiles' skin and watched as Stiles curled in on himself. There had to be something he could do, but Derek was afraid of making it worse. His hands moved toward Stiles, drew back again, clenched into fists, and loosened, fingers twitching.

"Stiles," he whispered helplessly.

Stiles clutched his head between his hands so tightly his arms trembled. His knees pulled up against his chest, and his mouth worked open and shut as his eyes stared past Derek's room. Stiles kept insisting he was fine, but this wasn't fine. And it was Derek's fault. He should have been more careful. He should have known better.

He shouldn't have been with Stiles in the first place. He was just a kid. A screwed up kid. How was this any better than what Kate had done to Derek? He scrambled away from Stiles, off the mattress and farther back until he hit the wall. This had all been a mistake. Derek was too old to keep acting like a horny teenager.

"I'm sorry," he choked out even though he doubted Stiles could hear him, maybe _because_ he doubted Stiles could hear him. Derek had never been good with apologies. They tasted too much like ash.

Stiles breathing finally slowed. It stayed uneven for a long time, but Stiles lifted his head and his eyes rolled over the room until they settled on Derek.

"Come here." He stretched a hand toward Derek and spoke in a voice rubbed raw by his panic.

Derek shook his head but moved toward the mattress anyway. "I'll take you home."

"I don't want to go home. I want you to come here." He tried to grab Derek's jacket but was too slow.

"I can carry you if I have to." Except he was afraid to even touch Stiles again.

"Stop being a bitch and comfort me." It was hard to tell if he was trying for angry or whiny, but he came off as exhausted.

"You'll be more comfortable in your own bed."

"With my father and my son to listen in and wonder what's wrong with me? I don't think so."

"Stiles."

"Don't 'Stiles' me." This time he managed to find angry.

"I can't..." Derek swallowed the rest of the sentence, but it stuck like a lump in his throat.

"What the hell is wrong with you? I thought we were together now. Doesn't that mean you're supposed to be there for me?" Behind Stiles' anger was a threat. Derek tried not to focus on it.

"That was a panic attack, right? I triggered you again, and I can't... It's better if we're not together." Derek clenched his jaw to keep it from trembling.

"No, you don't get to do that." Stiles lurched off the mattress and stalked up to Derek. "I am not putting up with any self-righteous 'I'm a possible danger to you' bullshit."

"It's not—"

"It's bull."

"Stiles—"

"Derek," he mock-whined the name and glared at Derek like he wanted to light him on fire. "You don't get to decide what's too much for me, so unless you have a reason like, 'Oh, Stiles, turns out your feet smell funky, and I just can't be with a dude with funky-smelling feet,' you can shut your dumb mouth now and cuddle me."

"I can't decide if that's the dumbest thing you've ever said or not."

"I'm serious. It's my life and my choice, and if—"

"No, I meant the foot thing." He pulled Stiles into a hug because he wasn't sure what else to do.

"Oh, yeah, that was pretty stupid. You better have a better reason than that if you ever dump me." He led Derek back to the mattress and pushed him to lie down. This time Stiles nuzzled Derek's neck without biting him.


	17. Aftertaste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so obviously I didn't write this with Lydia as a banshee. I've decided to maintain the altered-magic-but-still-mystery version of Lydia I already planned here. It's not like this is remotely season 3 compliant anyway. That said, I'm struggling much more with decisions on Derek's past because I obviously have to have the Past Relationships talk between Derek and Stiles at some point, and apparently there's more to it than I knew about when I wrote that back in like December or whenever I finished the first draft of this thing.
> 
> I would also like to add that banshee=bean sidhe=sidhe=faerie, so faeries are totes canon now, guys; watch out for werespiders.
> 
> And sorry this update has taken so long. Mostly I've been putting off revisions because, well, canon is screwing with me, as mentioned above. Beta Nicole has also recommended some pretty big changes to portions of the story might be necessary because she "doesn't buy" one of the key plot elements of the later part of the story (whoops). I have begun on these and then got intimidated and whiney and started working more on my original writing (which is going well except that I have no idea how the thing ends but the characters are much more fleshed out than when I started and have begun to develop symbology and snark).
> 
> Now I guess I should apologize for the long author's note.

Stilinski cornered Daemyn in the kitchen while Stiles was at Derek's. Daemyn could have gotten away—he was fae after all—but he figured if his grandfather had something to say, he should listen, even if he wouldn't know he was saying it to his grandson.

"You hurt my son."

Daemyn nodded. There was nothing he could say to that. He'd more than hurt Stiles; he'd nearly killed him. If not for Jackson, Daemyn would have left him there to die, all the while thinking his mother was the victim. His heart wrenched at the thought of his mother.

"You won't do it again." The words were a command, not a question.

"Never," Daemyn promised.

"Why did he forgive you?"

"I don't know." Daemyn had expected Stiles to reject him after what he'd done. Something, fear probably, had made him stick around Beacon Hills long enough to hear Stiles' call. He knew Stiles didn't love him. He hadn't bothered to hide that when Daemyn bound them, but some part of Stiles thought maybe someday he could. Daemyn licked his lips and wished he could spit out the taste of hope because he'd learned the aftertaste would be misery.

"You're young. He thinks you were confused and manipulated, and I've tried to raise him to believe people deserve a second chance." He put a hand on Daemyn's shoulder. "Don't make that a mistake."

Daemyn nodded again, and his grandfather removed his hand.

"Then again," he added, "I also tried to raise him to respect the law, and you've seen how that turned out." He shook his head at his absent son. His expression became serious again, and he led Daemyn to sit down. "Do you blame him for what happened to your mother?"

"I blame them both. And myself."

"Who does he blame?"

Daemyn shrugged even though the gesture felt irreverent.

"You two haven't even spoken about it, have you? Even though he wants you to live with him."

Daemyn shook his head. "He only mentions it to you, and the way he says it... it sounds like he wants to be blamed."

"Noticed that, did you?" He waited until Daemyn braved a glance at his eyes. "Don't let him."

This promise gave Daemyn more trouble. He traced the wood grain of the table with his finger. "I'll try," he said because he still dreamed of a family someday, and he wouldn't get there by lying.

"Fair enough." He sighed heavily though. "Stiles insists we let you use our name. I don't approve, but he's determined. Try to live up to his trust in you."

Daemyn nodded. "I will." He resisted smiling because his grandfather looked so stern, but he liked the ring of Daemyn Stilinski.

**~.x.~**

It felt strange to gather in his living room, but now that Stiles' father knew about the pack, it made sense. This was a place of strength for Stiles too, and Deaton claimed it could help since removing the garnet would likely weaken him as removal of the horn had weakened Scott. Stiles shared the couch with Derek and Daemyn. Deaton and the sheriff waited in the armchairs. Scott had pulled in a chair from the dining room and sat backwards on it with his arms resting on the back rail. Lydia stood even though they had left a seat for her.

"The last time you all had a bright idea like this, I wound up unconscious for six hours." Lydia crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow as if daring them to deny it.

"But you saved me," from Scott was all anyone came up with.

Lydia's expression made it clear that wasn't enough.

"Please," Daemyn said. "The stone was part of the draining spell and should have become inactive afterward. Since it's not, there's a chance it's still draining him."

"Of magic or life?" she asked slowly, clearly wary of seeming too open to the discussion.

"I don't know. Maybe both. But it activated when he used magic at the unicorn campsite. I would guess it was draining him then."

"Is that why you seemed so upset?" Stiles cut in.

"Yes. I tried to deactivate it then, but..." He waved a hand at Stiles' chest where the garnet still hung.

Lydia looked from Daemyn to the garnet to Stiles' father. "Why aren't you saying anything?"

"All I've got to say is to help my son, but I know it puts you in danger." To Stiles' eyes, he was stiff and awkward with how much effort it took not to force Lydia to help. He wondered how he seemed to the others.

"Tell me what you want, and I'll decide after." She took the seat they had left for her beside an end table with a lamp on it. Her purse bumped the lamp as she dropped it on the table, but it steadied itself instead of falling.

"We would have to form another bond, but it should be easier this time since we've done so before. After that, I can't tell you because I don't know what the stone is doing. Most likely I need you to cancel out protective wards." Daemyn gestured a lot as he spoke even though there was nothing for his hands to mime, nothing recognizable anyway.

Lydia sent Deaton a questioning glance.

"It _should_ be easier, but that doesn't mean it will be. If it's not, the strain on you will be greater than before." He held up a leather pouch on a chord. "I brought you this. It's just a few herbs and a small amethyst. Nothing that will have an active or damaging effect on you." When Lydia only looked at him, Deaton stood and carried the pouch to her. She opened it and examined the contents only to close it again and set it beside her purse.

"So you're saying you, once again, don't know what the problem is or how to fix it or how bad I'm going to be hurt."

"Yeah, but we're also saying it's _Stiles_." Scott stared at her with wide, pleading eyes.

"I thought so." Lydia stood and grabbed her purse. She had to pass the couch to leave, but she stopped in front of Stiles and grabbed hold of the garnet. It pulsed lightly as soon as she touched it. Stiles might not have noticed except that he could feel it in his chest as well. "It's an ugly setting, and who thought a black chain was a good idea?" She threw her purse into Derek's lap and spun to sit in the small space between Stiles and Daemyn as she pulled the talisman Deaton had given her over her head.

"I'm confused," Scott said.

"Why?" Lydia spared him only a glance as she took hold of Stiles' and Daemyn's hands. "Like you said, it's _Stiles."_

Stiles laughed as he pushed back thoughts he wanted safe from Lydia. They had been fools to doubt her. Daemyn's mind slipped into his easily. Even though he tried to hide it, Stiles felt Daemyn poking around trying to find where his magic was hiding. They both knew it was in there somewhere, but not how to access it. Stiles pushed Daemyn toward Lydia. Last time, they'd had to navigate blind by Stiles' memory of Lydia's worst memories. Now, they could sense her, not clearly as they could each other, but like a shadow behind frosted glass.

"Lydia, can you feel us?" Stiles asked.

"I don't know it's like... that feeling like someone's watching you." She half-glanced behind her, but the shadow of her turned toward Stiles and Daemyn.

"That's us." Stiles reached through Daemyn toward Lydia. "You can pull us through."

The cold of Lydia's touch washed over them, and he lost track of which one he was. There were three, but only Lydia knew which one she was. It hadn't been like this before. They thought it was Lydia's doing. They reached for the garnet around Stiles' neck and together moved his hand to clasp it. Lydia's hand covered his.

The stone was powerful, much more powerful than it should have been. Maybe the draining spell had looped back, trapping Stiles' power in the stone and creating a buildup there. They found the lines of spellwork that bound the stone to Stiles. They were as intricate as the unicorn horn's web but more numerous.

They could no more unravel this than the last one. When Lydia tried to reach in and channel them through her into something else, the wards repelled her. One of the others didn't understand, but the last reminded them Thera created the stone and knew about Lydia's talents. There was something else too. The others couldn't tell past the chill of Lydia herself, but she said the stone felt cold. Stones were generally that way since they didn't produce their own heat, but there was something more than temperature to its chill.

They remembered suddenly staring up at Stiles in the moments before passing out and thinking he was cold. The table beneath them had been cool except for the warm spot Scott had been sitting before, but Stiles' eyes had been empty of all but ice. If it hadn't been a memory, the others would have denied it. Stiles was fire, not ice. They showed her the pit in him that only flame could fill, and she fought not to draw back from it. When she wondered how they both knew, the other remembered they were two, and only two. Stiles and Daemyn. They found their way to themselves without leaving Lydia.

They still couldn't sever the gem from Stiles.

Lydia brushed Stiles' hand aside and grabbed the garnet like she had the horn. It rejected her and retaliated. A shock of energy threw her back so hard Lydia hit the far wall of the room and collapsed in a heap on the floor.

"Lydia," Stiles shouted, leaping over the coffee table and rushing to her side. He took her face in his hands, but her eyes stayed closed. "Lydia, wake up." He checked her pulse. It was slow, but present. She breathed steadily, and Stiles could find no wounds on her.

Daemyn pushed Stiles aside and held his hands over Lydia's heart and head. "Set her on the couch," he said after he pulled away.

Stiles carried Lydia in his arms to the couch as the others watched. "Will she be okay?"

"Yeah, she'll wake up in a few minutes and be pissed though," Daemyn said as Stiles lowered Lydia onto the couch. "I don't think you'll be okay though."

"I'm not to one who was just propelled into a wall."

"We can't separate the garnet. The protections are too strong, and it's already reached too deeply into you or pulled you too far into it. It's hard to tell which way it goes." He shook his head.

"There has to be something you can do," Stiles' dad said, taking Daemyn by the arm.

"Let him go, Dad."

"Something you haven't tried or haven't told us." His grip tightened visibly, and Stiles saw panic in the way his father's eyes darted between Daemyn's.

"I said let him go."

"You were the one who used it. You started this. You have to know how to stop it."

Stiles shoved his father away from Daemyn. "He did everything he could. I saw his thoughts, and he can't help."

"I..." His shoulders fell, and that frightened Stiles more than his grip on Daemyn had. "I know. I just can't lose you too." He pulled Stiles into an embarrassingly long hug.

"If it's taking magic, I don't think it will kill me."

"It's not just taking magic," Lydia said, sitting up and rubbing at the back of her head.

"She's right." Daemyn's voice came out strangled. "It's killing you."

Stiles froze as his father gripped him tighter. Eventually the others came closer. Some of their words sounded like feeble plans to get rid of the gem, but for the most part, they just hugged him while he stood numbly staring into the emptiness inside himself.

"Stiles," Someone was shaking him, so Stiles moved his face toward them.

"Should we tell the others or do you want to?"

Stiles' mouth moved, but he didn't know what sound he meant to come out of it. "Pulling me into it," he said eventually. "Not the other way." The hole wasn't a metaphor. Stiles pressed up against the edges where pieces of himself were missing and wondered where the gem put them and what would be left when it was done. He remembered the old panic rattle in his chest but couldn't feel it now. It had fallen through.

A hand took his, and then Daemyn was with him, reaching for the hole inside him and feeling the outline of its emptiness. He thought about the fire and wondered if it really helped Stiles or just the garnet. Stiles laughed because he thought it was the latter, but he wanted it desperately. Through their minds, Stiles begged Daemyn to help him feel the fire dance for him once last time before a dead woman killed him. Then he screamed at himself for being stupid enough to rip at the hole Thera made inside him.

Daemyn showed him that his screams were as literal as the hole, and Stiles clamped his teeth to stop it. His body trembled with the force of emotion he held in, and the garnet pulsed again, bright enough to be clearly visible. Stiles sensed Daemyn's fear even though he tried to hide it, so he pulled his son into the hug he hadn't collected earlier to keep the others from asking questions. He didn't bother to say it would be okay. They were both too tired for lies.

**~.x.~**

Daemyn stayed connected to Stiles for longer than was safe. Stiles was still in shock. He stared blankly and made no move to interact with anything beyond gripping Daemyn's hand. Daemyn fed him the sights and sounds around him and did his best to translate Stiles' reactions for the others. When they got sick of that, Daemyn suggested they leave, and he couldn't tell if it was his impulse or Stiles' to send them away.

Derek didn't leave. He hovered nearby looking even less happy than usual. If Stiles' father hadn't taken the seat beside Stiles, Derek would probably have been in it with his arms around his boyfriend. Stiles showed Daemyn that he hadn't lied the time he said Derek wasn't his boyfriend. Daemyn almost laughed, but it came out shriveled and bitter.

"Hey, boys, I appreciate that you care about my son and that you're helping him, but I'd like to be alone with him for a while." When he looked at Stiles, Daemyn could see his world unraveling thread by thread with the anticipation of his son's death.

"He... has some time, right?" Derek asked.

Daemyn nodded. "We don't know how much though." It depended on how desperately Stiles dove into the gem. He'd been doing a hell of a job so far, picking away at himself with steady deliberation.

"Tell him to call me, okay." He didn't sound like an alpha werewolf now. He sounded wrung out and beaten.

Daemyn nodded his agreement, and Derek left so slowly and looked back so often he might as well have been walking backwards.

"Daemyn," his grandfather said, but Stiles tightened his grip on Daemyn's hand. He held it up to show. "Who are you really?" He asked at last. "You're not just some kid who nearly killed him, and don't bother trying to say otherwise. He let his best friend, his almost lifelong crush, and his boyfriend all leave before you."

"I really am Thera's son," he said because the rest was Stiles' secret.

"Then who else are you?"

Daemyn panicked and leapt into Stiles for help. Stiles settled him back and woke himself up for Daemyn's benefit. He blinked his eyes to make them focus and stretched his muscles to get his blood flowing properly after being still so long. Daemyn shared the tingling in his limbs and the dryness of his throat when Stiles said, "He's my son too," but he couldn't fathom the terror, defiance, and relief Stiles felt in saying those words.

"Your... son?"

"I grew up in the neighboring dimension. Stiles calls my age 'time shenanigans,'" Daemyn explained because he wasn't sure Stiles could.

"Half human," Stilinski murmured. "Half Stilinski." He took hold of Stiles' shoulder. "You should have told me."

"I was ashamed." He still was, but not of Daemyn.

"Lots of kids make mistakes, Stiles. We could have—"

"I didn't make a mistake." He wrapped his arms around himself, and Daemyn wished he could show Stilinski without any of them having to say it because Stiles wanted so desperately never to hear it again. Somehow, Stiles was even more repulsed by the idea of people thinking he'd wanted to be with Thera.

"I didn't mean that your child was a mistake. I meant—"

"I know what you meant, and I never decided to have underage sex with anyone." Stiles sneered when his father glanced at Daemyn like he shouldn't be hearing this. "Don't bother giving him that look; he already knows." He barked out a laugh. "He knows that his mother raped me and then tried to use him to kill me, and I guess she's getting that last part fulfilled a little post-mortem."

"Stiles." It was the way he said his name to sooth him.

Daemyn tried to help calm Stiles, but he was thinking of Thera now, of all the things she had said and done. Faced with a vision of his parents undressed in Stiles' room, Daemyn recoiled so far he severed the bond between them. The backlash struck them both like a jolt to the head.

"Sorry," Stiles said. "I didn't mean to..." He swallowed.

"I know." Daemyn stared at his feet.

"Stiles, you told me so I would take care of him, didn't you?"

Daemyn's head jerked so he could see his grandfather, and he saw Stiles nod. "I won't be able to, right? I guess I should reintroduce you." He took both their hands in his. "Dad, this is my son, Daemyn. Daemyn, this is your grandfather. Please don't hate each other."

They stared at each other, and Daemyn felt Stilinski inspecting him, looking for Stiles in his face. Sometimes Daemyn did the same thing, so he knew exactly where he'd find him. The hardness had gone from his eyes, and Daemyn realized it had been there in the first place because he remembered Daemyn had almost killed Stiles.

That 'almost' had a new meaning now that he knew Stiles would die anyway.

Stilinski reached out and pulled Daemyn forward into a hug with Stiles at the center. Daemyn remembered all the times he'd dreamed of a family, but this wasn't how he'd wanted it. In the end, there would still just be two of them. He cried against his father's shoulder with his grandfather's arms around him and wished something could go right for once.


	18. Don't Lie to Me Because I'm Dying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So new canon about Derek's past and Stiles' knowledge of it would affect how the characters interacted in previous chapters. As such, I have decided to leave Derek's past as we knew it before: Kate was an older woman who seduced innocent teenage Derek to find out enough about his family to kill almost all of them in a fire. Paige never happened. Derek never told anyone about Kate. It's not like this fic was season three compliant anyway.

"I guess we need to rehash our little talk," Stilinski said as he took a seat beside Dameyn on his bed. Daemyn had been waiting in his bedroom—until today called the guest bedroom—while Stiles and his father discussed the parts of his death that Daemyn didn't need to hear. Things like medical excuses, what Stiles wanted done with his things, and how he expected his father to treat Daemyn like family. Stilinski forced his thoughts away from the liquor cabinet. He'd held himself together enough for Stiles, and he'd promised his son he would do the same for Daemyn.

He could drink himself into a stupor when he was done.

"It wasn't so bad the first time." Daemyn shrugged, but Stilinski saw in the tightness of his eyes and the jut of his bottom lip that he didn't mean it. The pout reminded Stilinski how young Daemyn was. He was old enough to understand what had happened to Stiles and young enough to believe people should be able to separate him from _that_ in their minds. Part of Stilinski wished the kid wouldn't have to learn better. Part of him also wanted to scream at the boy since he couldn't scream at his mother.

After a long, steadying breath, Stilinski charged forward. "I get why Stiles went with you being his cousin and my nephew. Outside of the family, we'll keep up that story. We'll have to work out who we are when we're alone, but you're welcome to call me by name or Grandfather. Or if you get used to Uncle, that works too."

Daemyn nodded with his wide eyes fixed on the floor.

"I know you didn't want to kill Stiles. I was harsh before because I thought I had to protect my family. I'm sorry." It shouldn't have hurt to say that.

"It's going to happen anyway though." Daemyn's eyes watered. "I'll have killed my father."

"It's not your fault. I know it's not much help since she was your mother, but Thera is the one killing Stiles, not you." He rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. Stilinski knew that Stiles still blamed himself for his mother's death even though he had nothing to do with it. He wondered if excessive guilt ran in the family, and that was when it hit him again. They were family. It felt like being kicked in the teeth.

"I worked the spell."

"You didn't know. And Stiles doesn't blame you. When he sent you out of the room earlier, he gave me a long lecture about how nothing has been your fault." He smiled and felt the sadness of it seep through him. Stilinski wasn't sure if he loved his son more or admired him or pitied him for being able to look at Daemyn and see more than... than being raped.

"He did?" He fit so much reluctance and hope into two words that Stilinski couldn't help but wonder what he'd thought of Stiles while he was growing up. There would be time for questions like that later.

For now, he answered, "Of course he did, Daemyn." He held up a finger. "But there's still one more thing. We're not giving up on saving Stiles."

"But I can't—"

"Then we'll look for someone who can. For as long as there's even an ounce of hope, I refuse to give up on him. Stilinskis can be stubborn like that, and you're one of us too, got it?"

Daemyn nodded. "Got it."

**~.x.~**

When he finished speaking with his father, Stiles trudged to his room. He closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, letting the back of his head hit the wood. With his left hand, Stiles fumbled for the doorknob and turned the lock. His breathing accelerated, and Stiles forced it to slow. Breathe in. One, two, three, four. Breathe out. One, two, three, four.

He was dying.

Breathe in.

Stiles always knew it would happen eventually, hadn't he?

One, two, three, four.

A human couldn't run with wolves and expect to make it out alive.

Breathe out.

A laugh broke through his breathing exercises and doubled Stiles over. He was dying, and no one could see why. He slammed against the outlines of his invisible scars and felt them beat him back. No one could see anything. Still laughing, he slid down against the door until he sat on the floor. He rubbed the sleeve of his shirt over his eyes when his vision blurred, and it came away wet. Stiles laughed at that too.

Tapping from the window startled Stiles, and he looked up to see Derek's face staring in at him. How much had Derek seen? Stiles chuckled because it didn't matter. He pushed himself up and walked to the window so he could let Derek in.

The moment Stiles flipped the latch, Derek shoved up the window and climbed through it. He pulled Stiles into a hug and buried his face against Stiles' neck. His stubble scratched at Stiles' skin. "I know I said I'd go, but I couldn't."

Stiles didn't have anything to say. He clung to Derek, digging his fingers into the leather of his jacket. Then he remembered, "We never even got that first date."

Derek's grip on him tightened.

"I want my date."

"Stiles."

"Don't 'Stiles' me. We're going out on a date, and it's going to be awesome."

Beneath Stiles' fingers, Derek's shoulder's trembled. "I can't..." Derek gasped and choked back what sounded too much like a sob. "I can't pretend nothing is wrong." When he drew back his eyes were dry but shot through with red. "Please don't make me."

"Derek..." Stiles had never seen him so unraveled. He reached his hands to hold either side of Derek's face. "Can you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

Stiles had hoped he'd understand. "We haven't been together long, but it's still pretty obvious you've got mysterious, dark relationships past."

Derek's eyes widened and his teeth clamped behind his lips.

"I know I'm only making it worse." It seemed like all he did anymore was ruin.

"No, you're..." He pulled Stiles close again. "Shut up, you're perfect."

"Don't lie to me because I'm dying," Stiles snarled, pushing Derek back. He wasn't sure which of them it said something about that Derek stumbled back into the window even though Stiles wasn't strong enough to move him.

"Fine, you're a horny little shit with no concept of boundaries. Does that make it better?" Derek spread his arms, but drew them back in and scrubbed his hands over his face. "No, I don't mean that."

"Sure you do." Stiles stretched his lips into something like a grin. "You've hated every moment of me throwing myself at you."

"I don't want to fight with you."

"Well, I want to fight with you. I want to holler and scream and make up and fuck and kiss and make love and laugh and live, Derek, I want to live." He began by shouting but it faded off at the end. If Derek hadn't been a werewolf, Stiles wasn't sure he'd have heard it all.

Derek pulled Stiles to the bed. "I can tell you, if it's what you want."

Stiles nodded even though he wasn't sure anymore. They settled together on the bed, lying down and facing each other.

"I've only had one girlfriend. I was sixteen, and she was a little older." By his expression, Stiles guessed it was more than just a few months. "Her name was Kate Argent." His eyes burned red at her name.

"Oh my God." He threw his arms around Derek. "That's why—what you meant— _used_ —she used you to get to your family." Derek's growl was confirmation enough. "I'm so sorry." He pulled Derek closer and ran his hand through his hair and pressed Derek's face to his chest. Derek didn't cry, but he clung to Stiles like he'd fall off the world if he let go.

**~.x.~**

"Why couldn't I save him?" Lydia caught herself biting her lip and carefully smoothed her features. Her eyes still felt wrong, wide and wet.

"You can't do everything," Scott said. When they left Stiles' house, neither of them had felt up to going far, either to pretend at everyday life or to tell the others about Stiles. Instead, Scott showed her the way to a park he and Stiles played in as kids. They sat on the swings even though neither of them wanted to play.

"This is supposed to be the one thing I can do." She gripped the chains too hard and felt her fingernails bite into her skin around the metal.

"It's not your fault. And maybe we'll find something else. Stiles still has time, right? It's not like we're gonna stop trying." He smiled, and it was small but hopeful.

"You don't understand," she told him. "I was inside him. I felt it. The garnet found the darkest place inside him and made its home there, and it's using Stiles against himself. It doesn't even have to pick away at him because he's doing the work for it."

"Then maybe we can help him stop."

"That would be like helping you fall out of love with Allison. Pointless and frustrating even though it's necessary." She gave him the same look she always did when they talked about Allison because Scott still hadn't taken any of her hints. Allison needed him gone, not patiently waiting for her to return.

"Well, you're doing it anyway, so you'll try with Stiles too?" He smiled, but then it shifted to a frown. "And those are completely different examples."

Lydia let it drop. "I will try to help Stiles. I'm just afraid it still won't be enough."

"Me too." When Scott's eyes left Lydia's to land on the sand at their feet, she remembered Stiles was his best friend. She felt selfish for forcing Scott to comfort her.

**~.x.~**

Peter looked around Deaton's office checking for traps, though he disguised it as studying the decor, or lack thereof. Deaton wasn't fooled, but then what did Peter care? He dropped into the computer chair and propped his feet on the desk because he could. Deaton had asked him there, which put Peter in power no matter how much mountain ash filled the place. Deaton needed him.

He grinned. "Care to tell me what I'm doing here?"

"Pooling resources. Do your family archives have anything on magic, or just creatures?" He appeared calm, even down to his heartbeat, but he crossed his arms and set his feet apart. Peter wondered what he'd hidden in the breast pocket beside a hand that rested on top of one bicep even though it would more comfortably slide underneath.

"Why? Run out of tricks?" He pretended to pout. "Such a shame."

"It's for Stiles."

"Hasn't the kid earned a break by now?"

"You would think, but it isn't stopping a dead faerie's spell from killing him. So. Do you have anything that could save him?" His voice stayed measured and deliberate as always, but Peter knew Deaton liked Stiles if only because Deaton agreed to train him despite his compulsive need to keep secrets. Not that Peter could hold secrets against anyone.

"You could have started by saying he was in trouble." Peter frowned.

"I could have."

Now Peter rolled his eyes. "What kind of spell am I looking for?" He felt like he'd lost his footing somewhere.

"It would be easier if you just gave me the files and let me look."

So that was what he wanted. "Or." Peter held up a finger and straightened in Deaton's seat. "You could tell me what I'm looking for since I'm more familiar with the archive."

"It's hard to explain."

"So are generations worth of poorly organized files."

"Are you really going to let Stiles die because you don't want to cooperate?"

"Are you?" In this at least, Peter had an upper hand. Deaton cared about these kids a lot more than Peter ever would.

"You're as bad as ever, I see."

Peter smiled. "Worse. Now I'm both hateful and sane."

Deaton's expression said he doubted the last part, but Peter let it slide. He'd been dangerous when he lost his mind, and maybe the pack could do to fear him a little more sometimes. Since the pack got used to him, Peter had considered both interior design and murder to make him feel better. Derek got in the way of _both_ plans somehow. Deaton interrupted Peter's thoughts by dropping a file on his lap.

"This is what I have," he said. "Let's hope you have more." He narrowed his eyes. "Do not hold out on us, Peter. This is no time for one of your games."

Peter brushed Deaton's paranoia aside with a wave of his hand. "Please, I like Stiles. He's smart... ish." He flipped through the papers in the file. Not a lot there. "Lydia couldn't change the stone?"

"That's what it says."

"Did you try changing the base instead?" He frowned at Deaton's description of Lydia and Daemyn's failure.

"Which base is that?"

"Stiles."

"Lydia doesn't have an effect on people. You know that."

"Of course I know that. I was suggesting we use Derek on him." Peter bared his teeth to bite at the air in case Deaton still didn't get it. "Then again, maybe we should wait until I've looked through my files. It might not even take with a spell interfering."

"You do that then."  
That was a dismissal if Peter ever heard one. He sighed at Deaton's rudeness but stood anyway and spun toward the door. "See you later, Doc," he called even though he had already decided to avoid talking to Deaton again anytime soon. Those conversations did not go Peter's way nearly often enough.

On his way out the door, Peter caught whiff of something interesting, but he walked to his car normally so Deaton wouldn't notice anything. He drove just far enough that Deaton wouldn't know where he'd gone and then parked at a grocery store and followed his nose on foot. At the end of the trail, he found an old man sitting alone in a cafe sipping at a cup of horribly plain coffee. He smelled like brine and graveyards.

Peter took the seat opposite the old man. "You," he said, "Reek."

"I thought one of your kind would find me eventually." The man set down his coffee. "My name is John."

"Terribly exciting name, but you forgot to mention why I care." Peter added old men with horrible scents to the list of things he needed to look up.

"I want to enter an agreement with your pack." The old man steepled his fingers over his coffee. His American accent was good, but fake. Peter needed more time to identify his real accent. Even though he looked vaguely Asian, he didn't _sound_ Asian.

Peter smirked. "What kind of agreement?"

"I am looking for something. I am also a man of many talents. No doubt we can find one you need as much as I need your ability to cover ground." The old man stretched thin lips over yellowed teeth in a greedy smile.

Peter flashed his own smile. "What are you looking for?"

"I would rather not say, but I am prepared to supply amulets which will glow when near it." A secret then. And he expected Peter not to figure it out. Peter's smile widened.

"And what kind of ground will you be wanting us to cover?"

"Any kind. It could, unfortunately, be anywhere. But enough about me." He took another sip of his coffee. "What could your pack need?"

"I would rather not say."

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage." John spread his hands in front of him.

Peter shrugged and leaned back against his chair.

"It is hard to negotiate this way." John leaned forward as Peter leaned back. It made him look desperate, and Peter debated if it was intentional.

"It's impossible to negotiate. I'm not the alpha." Peter grinned. If he were still alpha, John would already be dead.

"Ah." John drew out the syllable until he sounded more like groaning canvas than a human. Not that he smelled human anyway. "Then I suppose I should request an audience."

"He doesn't really do audiences." Derek didn't really do much other than sulk and stalk teenagers. And apparently date them.

"You'll at least present my offer." He should have made it a question. Peter might have taken pity on him. But Peter laughed at his own thought because, no, he wouldn't have.

"Probably not." He shrugged. "We have more important things. Bonfires, howling, dogpiles. Wolf things."

"I see it is _you_ and not the pack we should be discussing, Mr...?"

"Let's not worry about names right now. We've only just met." Peter knew too well the power in names. It was usually a saving power, but he didn't yet know the extent of this old man's magic.

John smiled thinly. "Of course. I wouldn't want to... rush you."

"I'm an old fashioned kind of gal," Peter agreed. "And my daddy always told me not to talk to strangers, now that I think of it."

"Would a stranger give you this?" He held out a metal cylinder and tilted it so Peter could see inside. The edges were sharpened, and inside them, with equally sharp edges, was a spiral.

"What's that? A cookie cutter?" Peter didn't reach for it just yet even though he already knew it had to be much more than that.

John turned the cylinder to study the spiral. "Only if you want to waste it." He smiled. "This will let you talk to the dead."

"By stabbing myself and bleeding all over it, right? My daddy also told me blood magic will make my skin rot and my balls fall off."

"I don't recommend using it more than once every year or two, but this little thing is essentially harmless. And everyone has someone they wish they could speak to just one last time." He held it out.

Peter obliged by making his eyes wide and reaching forward before pulling his hand back and stretching it out again. John ate it up. "Will it hurt?"

"All good things do. But you don't have to go far past breaking the skin. And werewolves heal quickly." Even though Peter knew the healing would be slower after a wound from something like this, he kept his mouth shut and continued to play mesmerized with the bribe. He could think of a few uses for this, but he'd rather John think he was some fool missing his dead mother or whatever it was most people took these things for.

"Where did you get it?" Peter glanced to John as he asked.

"In a deal much like this one, but I've used it for what I needed already." A lie, obviously.

"I don't understand." Peter said because there was only so much stupid he could play. "You've got to know werewolves can hear lies, so why tell one?" Interestingly the part about ever having used it was a lie too. The only reason Peter could think of someone having such a tool without using it was that they didn't need to. That made dear old John a necromancer.

"A test." It was true, but Peter noticed he didn't say what he was testing for. "So tell me, do you like my gift?" He set it on the table in front of Peter.

"It's a start." Peter picked it up with a napkin and pocketed the cylinder. With a smile and a wave he left John in the cafe.

**~.x.~**

Daemyn nearly teleported from the house when he found a werewolf in his bedroom, but he thought it would be bad to leave his human father and grandfather alone.

"Hi," the werewolf said. "I'm Peter, Derek's uncle." So he was pack. That didn't explain why he'd sneaked in.

"What do you want?" Daemyn crossed his arms and hoped Peter was as afraid of faeries as his nephew.

"Just for you to tell me what this is." He lifted something from his pocket. It was wrapped in a napkin, and Daemyn noted that Peter was careful not to touch it directly as he set it on the desk against the wall.

Daemyn approached carefully. He studied without touching until he was certain there were no traps on the metal cylinder. He lifted it and peered through the end to see the spell. "It's a line into the afterlife," he said. "You press it through your skin and it lets you talk to someone on the other side. Like a messy telephone."

"Huh." Peter sounded surprised. "So he told the truth. I thought maybe he'd found a way to fake it"

"Who?"

"No one." He snatched the cylinder from Daemyn's hand. "See you later, kid." He turned to the window.

"Wait, you could get stuck."

"Are you calling me fat?"

"No, I mean if you use that too often, you'll be pulled through and trapped." Daemyn only said anything because Stiles cared so much about the pack, but Peter didn't seem very grateful.

"I'll be careful," he said as he slipped out the window.

Daemyn locked the window behind him with a frown.

**~.x.~**

Derek snorted awake in Stiles' arms. He kept twitching his nose. "Peter?"

"Dude, if you wake up snuggled up to your uncle, we may need to have a talk about what's family and what's boyfriend." Stiles stopped short because it was the first time either of them had used that word.

"No, I mean Peter was here. Not in this room, but close. I can smell him. Why didn't I wake up?" He rubbed at his eyes.

"I don't know. Maybe because you're constantly exhausted and emotionally drained and finally managed to cry yourself into a proper sleep."

"I didn't cry."

"Of course not. You manly brooded yourself to sleep." Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Much better." Derek pulled Stiles close again.

"Aren't you going to check on your evil uncle?"

"He's already gone." Derek nuzzled Stiles' neck and breathed in audibly.

"Dude, are you sniffing me?"

"I'm a werewolf. We sniff things. Shut up."

"What do I smell like?"

Derek pulled back and gave him a look like Stiles was a moron. "Like your laundry detergent and your body wash and... you."

"Well, I know my detergent smells like a field of lavender and my body wash like a stick a cinnamon, but what about that last one?" Stiles nudged Derek.

"Do you want me to make something up because that's the only way I can describe it."

"Honestly, Derek, we are getting you poetry lessons or something."

Derek raised an eyebrow.

"Fine make something up."

"You're that desperate."

"I am."

Derek gave a put-upon sigh and rolled over. "You smell like... if you put soil and licorice in a blender and then poured the mix over a fire."

"I regret asking."

"Are you surprised?"

"Shut up." Stiles kissed Derek's cheek and snuggled up to him, wishing what little remained of his life could just be like this.


	19. Burn

Sitting across from Derek in a restaurant and feeding each other cake would be more awesome if Derek stopped giving him these sad looks like he was a terminal cancer patient in his last days of life. Stiles _was_ dying, so he couldn't blame Derek. It would just be nice to forget for a little while. People kept giving them looks, probably because Derek was too old for Stiles, but he didn't care. In the moments between the sad looks, when Derek smiled at him, Stiles believed that if they had the time, they could be happy together.

"Don't look at me like that," Derek said.

"It can't be worse than your frequent looks of masculine regret and longing." Stiles jabbed his fork at Derek as he spoke.

Derek frowned.

"Yeah, that's much more normal." Stiles grinned when he said it because it _was_ roughly Derek's default expression.

The frown deepened.

"No, it's gone a bit too far now. Back it up."

"Stiles."

"Why do people always insist on saying my name in that tone of voice?"

"Because you're a pain in the ass."

"I thought you said we couldn't have sex."

Derek choked on his water and fell into a coughing fit. His eyes bulged as he struggled to regain his breath, and people stared at them even more than before. Stiles didn't think anyone heard him, just that Derek was making a fuss.

"Dude, chill. It was a joke."

"It wasn't funny."

"It was pretty funny."

"It was so bad it nearly killed me."

"Hey, maybe we'll die together then."

Derek's expression fell, and Stiles hadn't realized until then that Derek had been amused. "That one's definitely not funny." He folded and unfolded his napkin in his lap. "The others say maybe we can find some other way. It's not too late yet."

"Trust me, I want to live. I just... it feels too much like false hope, and I don't think I can bear it."

Derek reached across the table to grip Stiles' hand. "I'll bear it for you."

Stiles grinned. "I knew I'd get something cheesy out of you eventually."

Derek frowned. "I'll haul it into a covered wagon and drag it along behind you so it will seem less heavy."

Stiles froze, staring at Derek with his mouth hanging wide open. "You do it on purpose, don't you?"

"Sometimes."

Stiles grinned. "Come on. I'm tired of cake."

"How are you tired of cake?"

He let his grin become mischievous. "I'd much rather taste my boyfriend."

Derek actually blushed, but he managed to say, "People are stringy. You should stick with cake," as he waved for the bill.

**~.x.~**

Scott had to wait until Stiles decided to spend time with his dad. Then he had to find Derek and wait for him to stop staring at his uncle like a crazy person—not that Peter wasn't probably a crazy person, just Scott needed Derek to be alone. Eventually Peter left, and Derek collapsed to the ground in front of his burned-out house and put his face in his hands like he was going to cry. But he just took in a long breath and leaned back to stare at the sky with his legs in front of him and his arms on the ground behind him to hold him up.

That was when Scott approached. He walked at a normal speed and didn't bother to try and hide. Derek would hear him coming. First Derek twitched his head to the side. Then his eyes shot directly to Scott. He stood and waited. He had looked so much softer around Stiles and even more prickly than usual around Peter, but he was back to normal Derek with only Scott around.

"What do you want, Scott?" He asked as soon as Scott neared him.

Scott waited to answer until he was close enough to reach out and take a fistful of Derek's jacket. "Did you seduce him?"

"What?"

"Is it some sort of trick? To make the pack stay together?" Scott growled at the thought, but he wasn't the only one who'd had it.

"You mean Stiles?" It looked and sounded like genuine confusion, but that wasn't enough for Scott. He nodded slowly and waited for more. "No, I didn't trick him." Derek was angry, but he wasn't lying.

Scott let him go. "Really? You two actually like each other?"

Derek scowled.

"It's just you never really got along before, and you're kind of old. And it turns out everyone's been expecting me to pull out for a while and deciding who they'd go with out of me or you, but they figure I wouldn't leave Stiles, so maybe you..." He coughed. "But apparently not."

"Wait, who's leaving with you?"

"Um."

"Never mind. I can guess." Scott wouldn't have believed it except for how bitter Derek's voice became. Almost everyone had said they were thinking they'd go with Scott. Derek never seemed to work out in the end.

"I'm not—"

"No, of course not, because I'm dating Stiles, right?" The bitterness was still there.

"No. I mean I wouldn't have if it had been different, but uh..." Scott tried to figure out when he'd gone on the defensive because he came here to beat the crap out of Derek for leading on his friend.

"Well, if Stiles dies, then I guess you can go on your way, right?" And it only got worse. Derek's voice was thick, and his eyes glowed steadily. His fangs hadn't come out yet, but Scott spotted the beginnings of claws on his hands.

"No." Scott raised his hands as a sign he didn't want to fight. At least not anymore. "I wouldn't do that to you, dude."

"So that _is_ it then? You're only here because of Stiles? And maybe because you'll feel bad later?" He did not look even a little bit less angry.

"No." Scott needed a moment to figure out what else to say. Derek's eyes narrowed, but he didn't move otherwise while Scott sorted out his thoughts. "Before this idea of you tricking Stiles came up, I still wasn't planning on dropping out. I always figured you sucked as an alpha because everything you did failed hard, usually because you were being stupid, mean, or both. Also you always want to kill everything. Murder is not always the answer. Anyway, you actually listened to other people to deal with Cassie and let her into the pack. And then you got people organized on the unicorn thing because Jackson thought he saw something while he was drunk—"

"He was drunk?"

"Yeah, I thought you knew." Derek scowled instead of responding, so Scott picked up where he'd left off, rather than explaining what Jackson had to go through to get drunk as a werewolf. "And you saved Stiles and me when we both got kidnapped. Or got people to work together to save Stiles and me, which is more like what leadership is supposed to be anyway. So I guess what I'm saying is: you suck less now."

Derek's eyes and nails had returned to normal, but he was giving Scott a look too similar to the one he'd been giving Peter. Then again, his looks almost all looked the same anyway.

"I'm not saying I instantly trust you, just that I think maybe I could if you continue to not constantly be a jerk."

"Scott, go home."

"Hey, this is a serious conversation."

"Yeah, I caught that, and it's over."

"I'm not done though."

"Really? What else do you have to say?"

"Um." He'd sort of expected Derek to say something at this point. Like about how he'd try not to be a jerk or how maybe they could be friends.

"Go home, Scott."

Oh, yeah, Scott remembered, this was _Derek Hale,_ not a normal person. He shrugged as if to say, 'whatever,' and walked away from Derek at the same speed he'd used on the approach. Before he passed out of range, Scott heard Derek stomp into the ruined house.

**~.x.~**

Stiles lay on his bed watching the ceiling fan spin. His father still had to go to work, and Daemyn only spent short bursts of time with Stiles, like he thought Stiles would get sick of him otherwise. Maybe he was afraid of getting too attached when Stiles was about to die. A knock came at his already open door. Stiles expected Daemyn, but when he lifted his head, he saw Lydia.

"Hey," he said with a smile as he sat up. A lot of his interactions with Lydia were habits from years of unrequited fantasies. He knew he still acted like a boy with a crush around her, but he wasn't sure it was possible not to act like a boy with a crush around Lydia Martin.

"Hi. How are you feeling?"

"About the same." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "I mean, I feel fine."

"It's not your body that's going to die first." Everyone knew that much by now. Stiles wished they didn't. It would make pretending to be okay easier.

"I know."

"So, how are you feeling?"

With a groan, Stiles fell back onto the bed and lifted one arm above him toward the fan. "I want to pull that from the ceiling and send it spinning away until it crashes against something hard enough to shatter."

"Still destructive."

"You think?"

"Still confrontational."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Telling me that what I'm feeling is also what's killing me isn't going to help. I don't believe you buy into this power of positive thinking bull."

"Still angry."

"That wasn't angry." Stiles frowned.

"Definitely angry." She smirked but shook it off a moment later. "We're all just trying to help. I don't think 'happy thoughts' are going to save you, but I think we can slow down the process enough to give the others time."

"You don't even know which pieces of me it's using."

"Which is why I've recommended avoiding all the dark ones." She settled herself on the edge of the bed and took Stiles' hand. "I wish I could do more."

"Yeah, me too."

"Still hopeless," Lydia whispered. "It wouldn't hurt, you know, to believe. If you're wrong, well, you're not the one who has to deal with it."

Stiles laughed bitterly. "I'm the only one who won't have to deal with it."

"I think we should change the subject." Lydia straightened herself and put on a smile. Stiles wondered who she expected to fool anymore. "What's dating Derek like?"

"Um. Nice?"

"Wow, descriptive. Look, my werewolf boyfriend is the vain and obsessive kind. It works for me, I guess. I can be vain and obsessive sometimes too." She winked. "Derek is more the stare at a wall until it blinks type."

"That explains why he always looks so grumpy." Stiles laughed. "He's not as bad when it's just the two of us. I mean, he used to be, but I've recently discovered he has a sense of humor and the smile muscles in his face are not mysteriously paralyzed."

"Derek Hale. A sense of humor."

"Yeah, not long ago he offered to load my emotional burdens onto a covered wagon and pull it for me like an ox. Very Oregon Trail romantic." He grinned, but Lydia narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "No, really, he did. He even intended it as a joke."

"Is Derek secretly from the 1800s? Is that why he's so confused by computers and how to rent an apartment?"

"Oh, that reminds me. He made a Pokémon joke once too." Stiles waited for Lydia to fall over herself in shock.

"I don't know what that is."

Stiles heart broke a little. "I see now, Lydia, that it would never have worked between us. It's for the best that we found different people."

"Stiles."

"It's the Japanese thing where you capture cute little animals and battle with them, but it's just a game, so no animal cruelty problems."

Lydia looked just as confused as before. "Whatever. Derek is 'funny,' but only around you." She rolled her eyes, but then leaned forward and said softly, "But what about the sex?"

"We aren't having sex."

"What?"

"Well it'd be a literal criminal act, and my dad is kind of the sheriff." He decided not to mention that he didn't think Derek would be sleeping with him even if Stiles was older. Even if Derek hadn't said so, he thought Derek wanted him to keep Kate a secret.

"Oh my God, are you both virgins?"

"No. Neither of us are virgins."

"Yeah, right."

"Seriously. You need me to get a werewolf in here for some lie detection action? Because I will." Stiles finally sat up. Sure, he'd never had a girlfriend or boyfriend before, and never technically had a chance to lose his virginity, but no one believed he could have ever gotten himself laid. At all. Except maybe with Derek now, and they were definitely not going anywhere near sex. Probably ever since Stiles would be dead before he turned eighteen.

"Seriously? Neither of you are virgins, but you're still not having sex?" She pouted. "I was going to have so much fun with this conversation in any instance except this one."

"Do you want me to pretend to ask you for advice or something?"

"No, the moment's gone." She made a show of recovering from the loss for so long that Stiles couldn't help but chuckle. She smiled back at him. "You're happier when you talk about him."

"I should hope so. If he doesn't make me happy, then I think I'm choosing wrong."

"It's still weird to imagine Derek making anyone happy." She raised a hand. "I know, I don't know him like you do."

"Pretty sure no one does. I'm special." Stiles smiled and pictured Derek blushing.

"Some kind of special."

"Not you too."

"I'm teasing. Is it being nosy if I continue to ask about Derek now?"

"Extremely nosy. Please do so." Stiles grinned. "Everyone's too freaked out, so I haven't gotten to brag about my boyfriend _at all._ "

Lydia giggled. "Then please tell me how this happened because there is a reason everyone thinks it's weird, and you know it."

"I don't even know. We started talking more after I came home from Mina and Chase's little torment cave, and then he just kissed me out of nowhere. I may have freaked out a little too." Stiles rubbed at the back of his head bashfully. He'd done more than 'freak out a little,' but Lydia didn't need that much of the story. "And then I didn't even have time to process it because that was the night Thera came for me to give me this." He held up the garnet. "I get kidnapped a lot, don't I?"

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "Are you telling me you rushed into this?"

"Don't judge me. It turned out awesome. Or would have if not for the..." He jerked at the garnet's chain.

"I'm trying to picture Derek kissing someone." Her face twisted up with the strain of it.

"I could show you."

"No, I mean out of nowhere."

Stiles grinned. "Better yet, try picturing him scared out of his freaking mind at my father serving up scrambled eggs because that may have been the best moment of my life if I hadn't had to be there too."

"Was this before or after you started dating?"

"Before. But my dad sort of caught us sharing my bed because Derek was guarding me or whatever." Most of what Stiles remembered about that was Derek hitting his head. It was a hilarious memory, so he enjoyed it for a moment.

"You mean you guys were cuddling, and you thought the kiss was out of nowhere?"

"Judging again. And we weren't cuddling. It was a one-time accident."

"And if you had a California King, I might consider that true, but, Stiles, I've seen the size of your bed." She motioned to the lack of distance between them now. "You and Derek literally do not fit on here without entangled limbs and heavy breathing."

Stiles mouth fell open. "Oh my God. Are you telling me I was flirting with Derek?"

Lydia gave a little nod like that should have been obvious all along.

"And he accepted?"

Again, the nod.

"No wonder he was scared of my dad." His eyes widened. "Dad did not believe it when I told him Derek and I hadn't been doing anything, did he?"

Lydia's head shake made a matching pair with her previous nod.

Stiles leaned forward. "Does _everyone_ think we're sleeping together?"

Lydia nodded.

"Do they really think it's gross?"

"Erica thinks it's hot, and no one knows what Peter thinks. But otherwise, yeah."

Stiles turned to bury his face in his pillows. "Is the betrayal of all my friends one of my dark emotions because I think I'm going to cry now."

"You're being dramatic."

"You don't get to talk about being dramatic, Lydia."

"Oh, I can talk extensively about it, but I won't hold it against you." She patted Stiles' back while he pretended to sob into his pillow.

**~.x.~**

Derek pulled his chin above the exposed beam. He didn't bother with counting, just lowered himself and pulled up again. This was supposed to stop him thinking and calm him down. It didn't. Derek growled and dropped to the floor. His phone went off, and Derek checked to see if it was Stiles. It was Scott. Derek hurled his phone at an ashen wall and watched it shatter.

He had a pack only so long as Scott wanted him to. Scott had made that clear. Even if he thought now that he would stay with Derek to... honor Stiles' memory or whatever he thought it was, Derek knew it would only be so long before they disagreed again. Then Scott would split off and take most of the pack with him unless Derek rolled over and let him make the decisions. Derek growled again. _He_ was the alpha.

With a roar, Derek swung his fist into the wall and splintered the wood. He rammed himself against it and ignored the house's groans as he wrecked it. Some of the rooms still had pieces of furniture. Derek crushed them and screamed at his uselessness. Dust, dirt, and ash flew through the air around him. Derek breathed it in and spat it back out.

Derek smashed his fists against the stairs. His knees hit a lower stair, and Derek froze there. He slowly dropped his head to rest against the splintered stair and dug his fingers into his scalp. His claws broke skin, but Derek ignored the stinging and blood. He tried to think of just one thing he'd done that made him a good alpha. Just one.

There was nothing.

Derek's tensed fingers relaxed as his claws retracted. He didn't cry, but only because he'd trained himself out of crying after his family burned alive. He screamed instead. Screamed at himself, at his life, at Kate Argent, at Peter Hale, at Scott fucking McCall, and at the ash that surrounded him instead of his family. He screamed until his throat was too raw to scream any more.

**~.x.~**

The woods were cold this time of night. Stiles pulled his hoodie tighter and lifted the hood. Then he shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking. He would know the right place when he got there the same way he'd known it before. It pulled at him, at the emptiness that had been created in him there.

Sneaking out of the house should have been more difficult. Stiles grinned into the dark. Everyone forgot that being human didn't make him helpless, and for once it worked to his advantage. A now-familiar tug in his chest told Stiles he had arrived.

It didn't take long to build a fire and light it with a match because he was more desperate for the flame than for a spell he knew he couldn't cast. The fire warmed him inside and out. Stiles knew he should stop lighting them. Lydia was right when she said the garnet made him chip away at himself, and he felt the pieces fall away as he moved closer to the flame and imagined it burning through him instead of near him.

Wood snapped and crackled against the silence of the night. Stiles licked his lips and stared at the light. It made him blind to the forest around him, and Stiles liked the metaphor of that. He smiled and ran his hand through the highest tongues of flame too fast to be burned.

The fire needed to grow. Stiles imagined its hunger gnawing at him and its need devouring him. He turned and stumbled blindly for more wood. His pants were too tight at the front, so he tugged at them until he tripped over a branch or a root. Then he laughed and gathered the wood in his reach before standing and returning to the light of the fire.

Normally Stiles would build it slowly. Not tonight. He piled on wood as fast as the fire could take it without going out and grinned with the thrill of watching it burn. Ash and smoke blew with the wind, and Stiles moved to stand where he would have to breathe it in. When he coughed it up, he laughed and breathed in more.

Stiles lay down by the fire and watched it. He loved it as he had never loved his son, nurtured it to grow and be strong. It was beautiful. Stiles closed his eyes and felt its warmth on his skin. The night had been cold before, but now he sweated under its heat. He laughed and burned.

His eyes snapped open. He felt the hunger, felt the wood crumble at his touch. He felt the fire. Stiles leapt to his feet laughing and would have run into the fire except that it was already in him. It felt like ecstasy and tasted like heaven. Panting with his excitement, Stiles told the fire to _burn._ Burn anything. Burn everything.

The flames leapt from the wood he'd given them into the brush nearby. They rejoiced as he relished in them. And they burned. They reached the first tree at the edge of the clearing and ran through it like a piece of straw.

Stiles collapsed to the ground and closed his eyes to focus on the inferno inside him. It roared through him, consumed him, and Stiles welcomed it. He felt himself burn to ash at its touch and chuckled at how it tickled. This was happiness.


	20. Like Ash

"Where the hell were you?" Scott screamed. Gold filled his eyes, and his fangs grew in as he snarled.

Derek watched him rage. He watched everyone rage. Even the ones who blamed themselves blamed him too. Except Stiles who didn't seem to blame anyone. Derek wasn't sure he could.

"We found him in the middle of a forest fire." Scott seethed. "You were supposed to be with him."

Stiles stared at the wall. He didn't say anything. Every once in a while he turned his head at whoever shouted loudest. He hadn't looked at Derek yet.

"He almost died." Scott's voice was growing raw. Everyone else seemed happy enough to let him do the screaming for now. Most of them would probably be calling him their alpha soon, no matter the color of his eyes.

Derek growled, "He _did_ die." His mouth tasted like ash. Stiles finally looked at him then, but with empty eyes. Derek trembled under that gaze.

"You don't know he's dead. There could be something left. We could get him back." Lydia's voice shook, and Derek heard the lie even if she didn't. Stiles was gone.

"Something is crawling back from the hole," Daemyn said. "But I don't think it's Stiles."

Derek regretted now never asking Stiles more about Daemyn. The others didn't know he was Stiles' son, so Derek decided to make sure Stilinski did. If he could get Stilinski to talk to him. He sat beside his son now and hadn't said anything in a long time.

"I wonder," said Peter in a voice that made Derek want to rip his throat out. It was light and flippant, nestled behind a smirk. "If this is a good time to mention I can talk to the dead." He held up a metal cylinder roughly the size of a roll of quarters and gave it a little smile.

Derek didn't have it in him to growl. Scott did.

"You _just happen_ to have that right when we need it?" Lydia asked, obviously suspicious.

"Well, I've had it for a while, actually. I just didn't have a use for it." Peter shrugged.

Derek surged forward and pinned Peter against the wall by his throat. He wanted to ask where Peter got it, how it worked, if a little piece of metal could save Stiles, but all he got out was a growl. His claws dug into the skin of Peter's throat, but he didn't seem worried.

"I expected more gratitude, to be honest." He raised his eyebrows. "Do you want it or not?"

"How do we know it even works?" Scott demanded. He set a hand on Derek's shoulder as if to pull him off but paused. "All we have is your word, and you aren't exactly trustworthy."

"You have mine too, for what's it's worth." When Daemyn spoke, Derek and Scott both jerked away from Peter in surprise. "He asked me to look at it once, so I can tell you it creates a connection between someone living and someone they're searching for in the afterlife."

"Are you sure it will work? He didn't..." Allison paused and took in a slow breath past clenched teeth. "He didn't actually die."

"Only one way to find out." Peter held out the thing, but no one moved. "Come on, who's first?"

Derek grabbed the trinket, but his movements were stiff and jerky. He wondered if this was how it felt to move as a human: disconnected and only half in control. One end of the metal thing was sharpened. It wasn't hard to guess what he needed to do, so Derek rolled up his sleeve and rammed it into the inside of his forearm thinking desperately about Stiles. Blood welled at the metal's edge, and Derek wasn't surprised to see it was black.

The living room fell away around him, and the pack fell with it. Stiles did not, but now he sat on nothing, staring forward as blankly as he had in his home. Derek's mind couldn't decide if the nothing around them should be filled in as black, white, or grey, turning their surroundings into a permanent haze. It might have been clear like air if he could fathom visual emptiness outside of color and shade. A dark figure loomed over Stiles with claws digging into the skin of his scalp. Stiles didn't seem to notice. Behind the shadow-figure, Stiles lay in an unconscious heap. That one must have been Stiles mind and the sitting form his body. His pale skin looked stretched and bleached; Derek could barely even make out his moles. The purple bruising of bags under his eyes were the brightest color on his body, even brighter than the red of his hoodie.

Derek stepped forward, but the dark figure turned and hissed at him. Even with it facing him, Derek could not make out its features, like it sucked away all light that touched it. Nothing else here seemed particularly lit—Derek didn't think this place had light—but he could still see both versions of Stiles clearly. If he held up his hands, he saw his fingers and the swirl cut into his arm by Peter's trinket. The thing itself must have stayed behind because Derek wasn't holding it now.

Stiles opened his eyes, maybe disturbed by the hissing. As he blinked, the figure became steadily clearer, as if Derek had to focus through Stiles' eyes to see. Dark, curly hair cascaded down her back, and when she turned to ward off Derek again, he recognized the face as Thera's. Stiles changed as he woke too. His already pale skin leached of color, and his honey-brown eyes burned almost red. Veins of red ran through his eyes so thickly Derek almost thought it would spill out over his purple bruises. His fingernails clawed at the trail of Thera's skirt, and it's darkness leaked into him, darkening his fingernails and sending tendrils of shadow coursing upward through his veins. It pulsed along the back of his hands and disappeared into the sleeves of his jacket.

With a grunt, Stiles staggered to his feet. The other Stiles remained motionless on the couch, but Derek noted the same bloodshot eyes and black fingernails the moving Stiles had. Derek tried to step forward again, but something—or nothing—held him in place. He struggled but remained frozen.

Stiles screamed and beat at Thera with his fists, but she knocked him back. He landed against something like an invisible ground, and his head bounced off it with a crack. Stiles' eyes closed, and the living room rushed back up at Derek. He grunted as the floor crashed into him.

"Was that supposed to happen?" Erica asked.

"Is he okay?" Isaac stepped forward.

Derek shook off the fall and pushed himself up. "I saw them." His voice sounded strained.

"Them?" Peter asked, but he didn't sound surprised.

"Stiles... and Thera."

When Derek finally managed to stand, he found everyone's eyes had turned from him to Daemyn. They were dark, suspicious looks, the kind Derek was used to getting, but Daemyn clearly was not. He withered under their wrath and sunk back against the couch.

"It wasn't him," Jackson said. "Thera tricked him too, remember?"

"How do we know that wasn't a lie?" Erica demanded. "Fae can lie to us."

"He's not lying." Jackson crossed his arms.

"Since when do you even care?" Lydia demanded of him.

Derek had thought Jackson's face was expressionless before, but now his features fell so far he looked more like he had as the kanima than a human or a werewolf. He didn't say anything though, just stared at Lydia until she looked away. Jackson's gaze turned to Daemyn next.

"We should still separate them, just in case," Allison said. "Just to be safe."

Stiles' father looked away from his son for the first time. "No," he said, and the conviction in his voice assured Derek that he already knew about Daemyn. "Daemyn stays."

"There is nothing you can say to convince me Daemyn wouldn't help his mother before he'd help Stiles." Allison didn't look anyone in the eye as she said it.

Derek knew that wasn't true, but Stiles' secrets weren't his to tell. "Daemyn might be our best hope of defending Stiles."

"No," Daemyn said, "There's nothing I can do." There were tears in his eyes.

"I understand wanting to protect your mother, but she was wrong. She was hurting people. You can't just—" Allison swallowed her words and bit her lip.

"I'm not protecting her." Daemyn wrapped his arms around himself. "I don't want her back."

"She was your only family. Of course you want her back." Isaac said. "Even if you sort of don't."

Daemyn shook his head. "She wasn't my only family. I have... I have a father too."

"Then why didn't you go to him when she died?" Isaac didn't sound angry the way the others had.

"I did." Daemyn whispered.

"Did he send you away?" Isaac's eyes softened then, but only his. None of the others could be swayed the same way.

"No," Daemyn took Stiles' hand, and Derek almost shouted for him to shut up. "He took me in." He turned from Stiles to the rest of the room, and his voice became hard. "I would do anything to save Stiles."

"Wonderful," an unfamiliar voice said, and the room filled with the stink of seawater and death as a weathered old man materialized at its center. "Now I know what you want. So it's time to listen to what I want." A grin stretched across his face. "Which of you is this elusive alpha?"

Derek growled as his features shifted. He stalked toward the man, giving him time to be afraid of the monster coming at him. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" His claws found the man's throat but couldn't close around it. Something invisible like the world Stiles and Thera struggled in now pushed back first Derek's hand and then his entire body until he stood a few feet back from the old man.

"My name is John," the old man said as if nothing unusual had happened, "and I can see by your confusion that my dear friend Peter never told you about my proposition."

Peter raised his hands palm-up before him. "The time wasn't right. We have something of a death in the family, as you can see."

"Oh, yes," John agreed, looking at Stiles. "I can see."

Derek growled.

John raised a finger. "Down, boy. I can save your friend, but only if you help me out first. And we'll need to work quickly. He doesn't have much time."

Derek clenched his hands into fists that shook with his rage. "What do you want?"

John's smile widened.

**~.x.~**

Jackson still rankled that Lydia accused him of not caring for their friends. He knew he came off, intentionally, as uncaring, but he expected _Lydia_ to realize it was a front, even if no one else did. He cared, he just didn't want the vulnerability of caring actively. When Derek suggested they pair off to carry the creepy old man's amulets around, Jackson grabbed Daemyn and demanded to be whisked away. Faerie magic could be pretty cool when it helped Jackson instead of just faeries.

"What are you going to do if we can't save him?" he asked Daemyn as they trudged through the woods. Even though he kept checking the amulet, it hadn't even hinted at glowing.

"Stay with my grandfather."

"He knows?"

"Everyone knows."

"Oh." Jackson was so used to being the only one in on the secret that he had forgotten. "It sucks, by the way."

"What?"

"Not having parents. Real parents."

Daemyn nodded. "Yeah, I figured that out already."

Jackson figured the kid wouldn't need more from him. He would have Stiles' dad to take care of him. And he'd at least known his parents. He wouldn't feel the same lack of identity Jackson had when he found out his entire life had been a lie. His father wasn't his father, and his mother wasn't his mother. There were a couple of strange corpses buried somewhere, and those were Jackson's parents. He didn't even know what they looked like.

"We're not going to find anything out here," he said.

"We have to try."

"What's to say that old freak can help Stiles anyway?" Jackson scratched at his nose. He could still smell the guy, even out here. He wasn't sure he'd ever clean his nose of that stench.

"He's a necromancer. You can tell by—or, no, you'd tell by the smell. He's alive, but he smells like death." Well, that explained the stench. "Mother always told me not to trust necromancers, but..." His shoulders fell. "I don't think we have many other options."

"Hey." Jackson stopped walking. "Are you sure you can do it? Choose one parent over the other?"

Daemyn didn't answer for a long time. "I can't, but Mother chose for me when she tricked me into killing my father." His voice wavered, fell into bitterness. "I should have seen it."

Jackson shrugged and checked his amulet. He'd already noticed Daemyn leaned strongly toward the dramatic and had no inclination to deal with that. Dating Lydia was drama enough for anyone. The amulet remained as dull as ever, and Jackson dropped it with a groan and bent his head back toward the sky with his eyes closed. This was a waste of time.

"Isn't there some sort of magic you can find this guy's stuff with?" Jackson asked.

"Not without knowing what to look for." There was silence for a moment, then, "What are you doing."

Jackson opened his eyes and turned to look at Daemyn. "Basking in our mutual ineffectuality." He rolled his eyes. "And getting sick of wandering through the woods."

"There's nothing else we can do." His voice quavered at the end, and Jackson knew he'd begun to cry even though he turned away and refused to look back. He was not about to deal with a crying kid. "If there was anything..." he took a shuddering breath as Jackson walked away from him. "I would. You know I would."

"Try to keep up," Jackson called back. He hunched his shoulders against Daemyn's weeping heart and wished he'd run off with Isaac or something.

**~.x.~**

Cassie didn't resent Erica for telling her to spend more time with the rest of the pack, but she thought that was a command for peaceful times, not for when a creepy old man showed up and manipulated the pack into doing his dirty work. Honestly, Isaac was more focused on his cell phone than either Cassie or the search anyway. At least teenagers never looked out of place walking down a sidewalk and texting. Cassie thought she should have asked to go with Allison instead but crushed that thought before it went any further.

"Who are you even texting?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to look as disappointed in his lack of focus as possible.

"Derek, mostly."

"We haven't seen anything. What could you possibly be so desperate to report?" Since joining the pack, Cassie had realized Isaac and Derek were a lot closer than they seemed. It wasn't just that they lived together. Whenever Derek needed something, he turned to Isaac before anyone else. At first Cassie had thought Scott or Erica was his second-in-command because everyone seemed to do what they said, but now she knew it was Isaac. Someday she'd figure out how the pack worked with so many competing leaders.

"About the old man, not his search. He's..." He stopped walking. "I should show you." He messed around with his phone some more and held out a picture of an old man. Cassie nearly dismissed it, but then she recognized Stiles' living room and Peter. That was taken today, but it was not the same old man her eyes had seen standing beside Peter.

"What does it mean?"

"That's what I'm texting so much about. Lydia, Allison, and Peter are all lost. Daemyn doesn't have a cell phone, and Jackson hasn't texted me back yet. Derek wants us to keep looking though because he thinks it's important."

"Of course it's important," Cassie said. It didn't take an alpha to figure that out.

Isaac's phone went off. " _There's_ Jackson. He—Oh. Necromancy. Neat. But creepy."

"Necromancy?"

"Yeah, apparently Daemyn knew." He texted back. "I guess it makes sense. He showed up right after Derek used that thing Peter had; I'm guessing John gave it to him."

"Do you think it did something to Derek?"

Isaac shrugged. "He's fine so far."

"You're not worried?" Maybe Cassie would have to reevaluate how much she thought they cared about each other.

"Yeah, but worrying isn't going to solve anything." He continued texting. "Daemyn says John is probably a body-hopper, and the phone picked up his original face. Yuck."

"A body-hopping necromancer who we left with our friend whose body is currently empty?" Cassie stopped Isaac moving forward with a hand on his chest. "Is Stiles in danger?"

Isaac's eyes stayed on the phone, but after a moment, he said, "He 'probably' has to use bodies from his own bloodline. I'm already sending for clarification of the probably."

"Why do you text everyone instead of Derek?"

Isaac did look at her for a moment at that. Then he grinned. "He claims his fingers are too big, but he's just tech clumsy."

"So he doesn't know how to text?"

"No, he can text. Just really, really slowly." Isaac shook his head and turned back to the phone. "Daemyn says there are other ways to take over a body, but it often takes a lot more work. Apparently he got quiet after that and Jackson is angry at me because he's about to be accosted by crying children, by which I think he means Daemyn."

"That's what his mother is doing to Stiles now, right?" To Daemyn's father, she remembered, but she pushed the thought away to deal with some other time. "That's what Derek meant when he said it's Thera?" She thought the necklace was definitely part of what Thera had done, and the only 'gift' anyone had from John was the metal cylinder Derek had used. But Peter had been able to pass it over with no problem, and the necklace was bound to Stiles.

"Yeah, but obviously Daemyn can't stop it."

"That wasn't what I meant." Cassie took a moment to sort out what she _did_ mean. "Thera must have been prepping Stiles for this, as a backup plan if nothing else. It took time, and she used tools like the gemstone and Daemyn. What if John is having us look for his tools?"

"Yeah, if we were after something nice, he'd have just told us." His phone went off, and he cursed at it. "Jackson was too much of a jerk, and Daemyn ran off. I'm texting Derek in case he goes back to Stiles' place."

"Does anyone know where he was staying before?" Cassie asked because that seemed more likely the place he'd go, with Stiles dead and a necromancer in his house.

Isaac shook his head. "He was basically a secret to everyone but Stiles."

"What about Derek? Maybe Stiles told him something." Even though she hadn't outright mentioned that they were dating, Isaac got tense. Cassie wasn't sure what his problem with Derek and Stiles was. He was still friends with both of them.

"I'll ask," he said. They continued walking as he waited for a response. Finally his text alert sounded. "Derek doesn't know," he told her.

"If the necromancer can talk to the dead, why can't he find what he's looking for himself?" Cassie didn't expect Isaac to have an answer; she just needed to think out loud.

"Someone hid it from him." Isaac said. "That would make the most sense, right?"

Cassie nodded. "So maybe whoever hid it knows more."

Isaac started texting again. "We can also look into who this old guy is." Cassie waited through a series of texts. "Derek wants the two of us to continue searching. Anyone whose amulet glows reports to me instead of him, just in case John sees his phone. Lydia, Allison, and Peter are on research duty for both John and the one hiding his stuff. We're to continue searching in town where we're safe from dimensional rifts to make sure I keep contact with everyone." Even though everything was worked out, he continued texting.

"What are you saying now?"

"Making sure Derek deletes all his texts, just in case."

"He wouldn't realize that himself?" Sometimes Derek was a bit of an idiot.

"I told you he's not great with technology." Isaac shrugged. "That's what the rest of us are for."

"Is there anything Derek _is_ good at?" Cassie rolled her eyes.

"Working out and stalking teenagers." He said it with a grin, so Cassie knew he was joking, even if it seemed pretty true. Then he added, "But he's getting better at the other stuff." His phone went off again and Isaac laughed. "Oh, God, nevermind. He just asked me how to delete his texts." He began texting back.

"Isaac." Cassie stopped dead, staring across the street into an alleyway.

"One sec. I just gotta—"

"Run!" Cassie shoved Isaac away from the alley and a large man stepped out, leaning forward to aim the horn sprouting from his forehead at them. She had thought Stiles beat the unicorns back enough that they weren't a problem anymore, but this one seemed to be hunting them specifically.

Isaac dropped his phone, but Cassie dragged him away in the other direction as it went off again.

**~.x.~**

Daemyn teleported into his cave. Without the bag and tarp to cover it, the bloodstain on the floor stood out sharply against the rock, not because it was very different in color, but because Daemyn's eyes could see the life it once belonged to. It was fainter than before. Living with humans had already begun to affect him. He wondered what else would fade over time.

With the sleeve of a jacket Stiles had lent him, Daemyn wiped at the wetness around his eyes. He shouldn't have left Jackson like that. Derek wanted them searching in pairs for a reason, but Jackson pissed Daemyn off. One moment he seemed sympathetic, and the next he acted like a total jerk. It would be better if Daemyn hated Jackson the way his mother thought he would, but he kept remembering that Jackson was _not_ _always_ bad, that when Daemyn needed it, he talked to him, that he was the reason Stiles was still alive now. But Jackson only ever had half a conversation and spent the rest driving Daemyn away.

Daemyn rammed his fists against the wall of the cave. Jackson wasn't the problem. He'd made Daemyn angrier, but he'd been angry before that. Thera was the problem. The necromancer was the only solution they had right now, and that made Daemyn even angrier. He ripped the amulet from his neck and hurled it from the cave.

It glinted as it passed into the light and glowed as it neared the ground.

Daemyn's eyes grew wide. The amulet landed near the graves of the siblings his mother killed. He stumbled over and began moving the grave markers he had left, but the amulet never stopped glowing. It was the bodies. John wanted the bodies.

Or did he want the people they used to be?

He needed to tell someone. Normally he would go to his mother, but she was evil and gone. Or Stiles, but he was dead. Or his grandfather, but he was with the necromancer, who Daemyn didn't trust.

With a groan, Daemyn returned to where he'd left Jackson.

"That was fast," Jackson said.

"You're still here." Daemyn had expected him to move on.

"I wasn't sure you'd be able to find me if I moved. Besides, I was sick of wandering through the woods; I already told you that." He shrugged and stood from his seat on a fallen tree trunk. "At least we didn't land the part of the woods Stiles burned down. That would have been even worse."

Daemyn winced, but Jackson didn't seem to notice. Then he remembered he'd come here to say something. "I found it."

"Just like that?"

"It's the people who kidnapped Stiles. They were..." He wondered how not to sound like a freak. "I went to the cave where Mother and I came through to this dimension. She killed them there, and I buried them just outside."

"Wait, is that where you were staying before Stiles took you in?"

Daemyn hesitated but eventually nodded.

"You couldn't find a cave that didn't have dead people in it?"

Daemyn hadn't thought of finding anywhere else, so he shrugged.

"Whatever." Jackson pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and Daemyn wondered if he was texting Isaac again. They waited too long for a response, and then Jackson called the phone. "Damn it," he growled, eyes flashing blue. "Can you track people?"

Daemyn shook his head.

Jackson growled again, and his teeth stretched down into fangs.

"They were supposed to go into town, right? If I take us there, can you track them by scent?"

"Yeah." He dialed another number. "Hey, babe, John was looking for the Mortimers, but they're dead." He listened for a while. "Yeah, I can't either. Let the others know. We're going after him." He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Where are you? I'm going to send Daemyn your way once I'm in town."

"You're what?"

"You're the only one who knows where the cave is," Jackson said. "And Scott's looking for Isaac and Cassie too, so I'll team up with him, and you'll meet with Lydia."

Daemyn frowned. He'd wanted to help find Isaac.

"Don't pout, kid."

"I wasn't—"

"Shut up. I'm on the phone." He held up a finger and looked at Daemyn like he was a moron. Daemyn almost left him behind again, but their packmates were more important.

**~.x.~**

Lydia eyed Peter. Even if he'd stayed away from her since she brought him back, she didn't trust him.

"Your hostility is noted," Peter said, startling Lydia. "But not of much use to us right now."

"Leave her alone," Allison said, and Boyd made a point of standing at her shoulder as if to say he supported the girls over Peter. That was hardly a surprise. Everyone supported the girls over Peter, except Peter himself.

"Also noted." Peter smiled. "So, what do we think a necromancer wants with a pair of dead siblings? Fresh shadow puppets maybe?"

"He's a necromancer. Isn't using dead people what he does?" Lydia snapped.

"No one knew they were dead," Allison said. "How could he have known?"

"Maybe necromancers have ways of telling when people are dead," Boyd suggested. " Chase was some kind of witch, so maybe he's more useful than regular dead people."

"But if he knew that, wouldn't he know where they are too?" Lydia raised an eyebrow.

Boyd shrugged. "I don't pretend to understand magic."

"Great, so we all agree that we know nothing." Peter smiled unpleasantly. "Which is why Daemyn is on his way here to lead us to the bodies in the first place."

Lydia wiped a frown from her face almost before it appeared. She tried to remind herself that Peter wasn't worth her attention, but it was hard to ignore a man who nearly killed her, drove her insane, and mind-controlled her as some sort of hallucinogenic ghost.

"What can their bodies really tell us though?" Allison asked. "Literally all we know about this guy is that he's a necromancer, and he's looking for Mina and Chase Mortimer."

Peter tapped his chin. "Not quite. We also know he's a body-hopper. Maybe it was time to hop. He _is_ looking old."

"You think he wanted Chase to help him enter his next body?" Boyd asked.

Lydia shuddered.

"Oh, don't freak out. That's completely different from what I did to you." Peter's concern never even pretended at honesty, and it made Lydia want to jab something through his throat. She remembered threatening to punch him in the throat once while he'd been posing as a teenager, and now she wished she'd gone through with it.

"I said leave her alone." Allison looked almost ready to draw her crossbow on Peter.

"But it _is_ sort of like what Thera's doing to Stiles," he continued, ignoring Allison. "Kind of cheap coming back that way. I was prepared enough that I even got my own body back. Thera's going to deal with becoming a man and a human, and I just think it's going to put a damper on her return."

"Are you saying you _want_ her to take over Stiles' body?" Lydia nearly slapped him, but she knew her hand would never reach him if she tried.

"Of course not. Why does everyone think I've got a problem with Stiles?" He shook his head like he'd been wronged. It made Lydia sick. "I like Stiles. I even offered him the bite. Back when I could."

"You what?" Allison sounded almost as disgusted as she did shocked.

"And he turned me down. Can you believe that? Just think of how differently things would have gone if he was bitten."

"Let's not," Boyd cut in and nodded his head behind Peter. "Daemyn's here."

Daemyn walked around the group, and Lydia didn't blame him. She wouldn't want to pass close to Peter either. When she looked at Daemyn now, after what he'd said about Stiles, she could see the resemblance, especially in his lips. The color of his eyes might have been Thera's, but the shape was the same as Stiles'. Lydia used to think Stiles was in love with her, and she thought he used to believe so too. When he started dating Derek, she thought it was the first sign Stiles had moved on, but she supposed Thera was first, just Lydia found out about her later. Based on what happened afterward, Lydia understood why Stiles never explained how he lost his virginity.

Daemyn eyed the group and said, "I can't take this many. Who is going to the cave?"

"What about multiple trips?" Allison asked.

Daemyn shook his head. "I don't have the power my mother did. I've got one more jump left in me, and after that, I'll have to go on foot like the rest of you until I rest. I should be able to take two of you with me."

Peter sighed. "Why can't things just go well for us?" Lydia narrowed her eyes because Peter was a lot of what had gone wrong in her life. Peter turned to her with a horrible smile. "Well, dear, shall we?" He held out his arm.

"I'm not going with you."

"Boyd and Allison are just bodyguards at this point. You, Daemyn, and I are the ones who need to study the bodies." Lydia blanched at the mention of bodies. Dissecting frogs at school was one thing. She didn't think she could dig up and study human beings.

Daemyn took Peter and Lydia by their elbows. "Come on then."

"Wait," Lydia screamed, but they were already in the forest.

**~.x.~**

Stiles was on the ground, but there was no ground. His brain couldn't process whatever his eyes sent in about the nothingness around him, so it registered as a vague haze extending without end in all directions. He blinked against the haze and knew this had happened before. Thera stood above him, facing away, and beyond her was Stiles. That was his body and his link to the corporeal world. Thera's fingers dug at either side of his head, and Stiles knew she was trying to get in. She was going about it wrong. The broken place was in his chest, not his head. He'd felt it eating away at him enough to know.

With a grunt, Stiles staggered to his feet. He didn't have a body; he knew that. Somehow he thought being incorporeal would make moving easier, but he still _felt_ like he had a body. Thera turned and raised one arm. In a flash of memory, Stiles realized that she had done this before, knocked him back down. He stumbled back from the attack.

"Get away from me. Him. The other me. My body." Some of the threat might have been lost by the end there.

"Go back to sleep, Stiles. You'll be happier that way."

"No, I'll be happier in my body. Now get out of the way."

Thera laughed. "Stiles, you won't fit back in there." She turned fully away from his body. "You're a burnout, literally. I was trying to dig you out slowly, but you did it all in one beautiful inferno." Her smile fell. "It's causing _me_ some trouble too now though."

"You mean _neither_ of us will fit." He almost laughed, but somehow he thought it'd be easier to come back from evil faerie possession than from this. Deaton warned him from the start he could kill himself this way. Stiles wondered how everyone was taking it.

"Maybe, if we work together, both of us could fit." She said it like a new thought, but Stiles doubted Thera did anything without an ulterior motive and fully detailed plans.

"No."

"There's a lot of rubble to clear. You won't be able to do it without me."

"And you can't do it without me either, or you wouldn't bother to ask." Stiles crossed his arm and grinned. "Looks like a stalemate."

"You're insufferable."

"You're the one who chose me."

"You're the one who woke me," Thera snapped. She swung around and returned to Stiles' body. "I _can_ get in without you. You just might die first if I take too long."

"I already died."

"But your body didn't, and it doesn't have to."

"I'd actually rather my body and I were on the same page. I mean it'd be awesome to both be alive, but I think in this case my options are looking like just dead."

"No, Stiles, your options are help me or leave me alone. Don't think for a second you have the power to stop me." She turned toward him again as she spoke.

"I don't," Stiles said. "But I've never been the powerful one." Not counting the unicorn camp, and now that he saw her, he recognized that power had been Thera's anyway, not his. He remembered killing them, but he couldn't remember _why_ he felt he needed to. How much of Thera slipped through with her power?

Stiles was powerless. He grinned widely. "You say I can't stop you, but I would just love to see you _try_ to stop me now."

Thera dashed at him, and Stiles couldn't dodge. He didn't bother trying. She gripped him by his shirt and lifted him as he laughed. She threw him, and there was no impact when he stopped moving because there was nothing to hit. This was where he remembered waking from. When he pushed against the nothing, his torso rose, but his hands never registered touching anything solid; they just didn't move any more past a certain point. Stiles thought his and Thera's body might be something like the haze around him, data his brain made up to compensate for an incomprehensible truth.

"You are weak." Thera advanced on Stiles.

"Yeah."

"You are useless."

"Nope." He wasn't angry that she thought it though.

"Tell me then. What use are you?" She grabbed hold of him again and pulled their faces closer together. He saw her tongue move behind her teeth. "You can't do your research with no books. You can't cast your spells with no magic. You can't communicate with your friends with no body. So tell me, Stiles, because I'm confused. What is it you think you can do?"

Stiles laughed in her face. She'd said herself he was insufferable. All he had to do was distract her long enough to let his body die.

"You think this is funny?" She threw him down. "You still think you can get out of this, don't you?" She grinned and knelt over him with her knees on either side of his hips. Her eyes narrowed as her grin widened. "Why don't I just show you how pathetic you are."

Stiles' arms shot back over his head in mimicry of their position against his mattress. He struggled but could not move. This wasn't what he wanted. Not again. He screamed, but no one could help him here.

Thera drew a knife. "The great thing about being a fae is that I can make you enjoy it no matter what." She grinned. "No matter how much it hurts."

Stiles caught a glimpse of his body sitting limply behind Thera, staring straight ahead at nothing. His eyes blinked slowly without focusing. Stiles wondered how long it would live for. Not long, he hoped. Thera's knife bit into his hip and ran a bloody trail down to his thigh. Stiles screamed. No one heard him.


	21. Pack

Stiles never stood a chance.

**~.x.~**

Derek paced. He had deleted the texts on his phone and received nothing new after that. Stilinski sat beside Stiles' body, holding his hand and staring at him like if he just infused his eyes with enough love, he could return Stiles to life. Derek scowled and turned to walk the other direction. John watched them both with a smug little smirk on his weathered face. He still stank of death, and Derek wished he could rip the man's throat out. He reached the wall and turned again to pace toward Stiles and his father.

Stiles' shoulders hunched forward, and he let out a long sigh. Stilinski's heartbeat stuttered. The hand around Stiles' gripped tight enough to turn his knuckles white, and his other hand shot up to Stiles' shoulder. Derek froze. He wanted to move, to rush to Stiles' side and hold him as his father was, but he couldn't bring himself to. Thera was stronger than Stiles, even the remnant of her fighting through to Stiles' body had beaten him back effortlessly. Certainty that _Thera_ would wake in Stiles' place cemented Derek in place.

Stlinski leaned forward to better see Stiles' face, but when Stiles' eyes opened, they were blue. Like Thera's. Stilinski flinched, and Stiles—Thera—smirked widely at Derek. "Hey sexy," she said coyly with Stiles' voice. "Miss me?" She ignored Stilinski, who sat stunned, still gripping his son's hand.

"What did you do with Stiles?" Derek's feet came unstuck, but snarling was still all he could do without hurting Stiles. He remembered how broken Stiles had looked, collapsed in a heap outside his own body.

"He's here," She used Stiles' arm to tap Stiles' chest. "It was only a matter of time before he gave in."

"Well, this is awkward," John said. "Here I was enlisting their help by offering to save the boy."

Thera stood, leaving Stilinski behind on the couch. The grin she held on Stiles' face widened. "Johnny Dead Boy! What are you doing here?" She bounded across the room to wrap him in a hug. "Boy, you got old. Repeatedly."

"Looking to be young again soon." He stared into the blue eyes that had replaced Stiles'. "Is that you, Thera?"

"Of course. What do you think of my new look?" She spun and giggled, but Stiles' father caught her by Stiles' wrist.

"Let him go," he commanded, and his voice had gone dark.

"Oh, shut it." She waved Stiles' hand, and Stilinski fell back.

Stiles' eyes faded from blue to grey to brown. He scowled, and his fingers arched at his sides.

His eyes flashed from brown to grey to blue. Thera grinned with his mouth, but it was pained. "Naughty boy," she whispered. Only Derek's hearing was sensitive enough to catch it. She spun back to John and hugged him again. "So what's your next boy look like?"

He eyed Stiles. "Better than yours."

"Not likely." She ran hands along Stiles' torso. "Mine is amazing." She licked her lips. "A bit male though. I'm going to miss being a woman." One of Stiles' hands landed at his crotch. "I'll have a little fun still." She gripped Stiles through his pants and smiled.

Derek grabbed Stiles' wrist and pulled it away. "Don't you dare touch him," he growled, baring his fangs.

"Oh, please, like you'd hurt me in this body, Derek." Thera smirked. She tapped Stiles' lip thoughtfully. "If you're good, maybe I'll let you play with Stiles sometimes. I bet you'd like that." She eyed Derek. "Maybe you'd like a taste."

Stiles eyed faded to grey and brightened to his usual honey brown, but the smile fell from his face. He looked tried. "Don't, Derek." He took Derek's hand. "Don't let her. Please, kill m—"

"That's enough Stiles for now, I think." Thera took over again.

Too late, but it didn't matter. Derek couldn't kill Stiles.

**~.x.~**

It felt like hours before Jackson found Isaac and Cassie's scents. When no one could see him, he even tried howling, but no one responded. He nearly gave up and called for someone to give him a ride. Then he found it, faintly. When Jackson reached the scent trail itself, he realized it wasn't _just_ Isaac and Cassie. They were being followed. Or chased.

The rumbling growl in Jackson's throat caught him by surprise. It might have frightened a guy passing by too. Jackson grinned at that and nodded his head to the man, who shuffled away with his eyes on the sidewalk. The man passed from Jackson's mind as he turned to follow the scent trail. He ran at top two-legged speed but didn't dare drop to all fours in the middle of the street.

The trail led away from more populated areas. The farther it got, the more scents joined it. When he was sure no one would see, Jackson wolfed out and went down on all fours to lope after the scent. It felt like a hunt. Not that he'd ever been on an actual hunt, but he imagined it would feel this way if he had.

They were unicorns. Of course. Jackson found them between two warehouses, circling Isaac and Cassie, both of whom had shifted to their beta forms. They looked ready to fight to the death. Jackson scented the air, but he was upwind. There could be a herd of prancing magical ponies hiding in that warehouse, and Jackson would never know. He scaled the warehouse nearest him and took a running leap over the gap to place himself downwind. Midway through his jump, the warehouse Jackson meant to land on disappeared.

"Aw shit..."

He was surrounded by dirt. There was no transition. One moment there were buildings and asphalt, and now there were rocks and dirt. And unicorns. They knelt in a circle, with Isaac, Cassie, and the unicorns Jackson saw before at their center. Jackson was the only other person inside the circle, but no one seemed to have noticed him yet.

The circle's edge looked like open air but felt like a solid wall when Jackson smacked into it face-first. The scene changed back as he fell. Jackson found a handhold against a window ledge on the building that re-materialized in front of him. Below him, One of the unicorns had Isaac in a stranglehold, while Cassie bashed another's face against the wall. Unfortunately, there were more than two unicorns down there. Jackson set his feet against the wall and counted six unicorns in the alley. He hadn't gotten a count of the unicorns making the circle, but they didn't seem to have come back through.

The building became air again, and Jackson got a chance to count six surrounding unicorns to match the six inside the circle. Jackson kicked off the invisible wall at the circle's edge to shoot himself at the unicorn holding Isaac. He wound up kicking both of them but figured Isaac could get over it since the other option was watching while Isaac blacked out and probably died. The three of them all went down. Isaac and Jackson rolled when they hit the ground and came up, crouched and ready to fight. The unicorn landed heavily with a grunt and outrush of air.

Someone in the outside circle shouted, but Jackson suspected they had to keep their places to maintain the barrier and transport non-unicorns between dimensions. He wondered if they had planned for only two shifters when they sent out twelve unicorns.

The fallen unicorn pushed himself onto his elbows, but Jackson ignored him in favor of active threats. Cassie had knocked her first opponent out and seemed to have no trouble with the second. There were still three unicorns on their feet, ready to take out Jackson and Isaac, and six surrounding them.

Jackson glanced at Isaac to find him already watching him with a smirk. Jackson returned it and nodded to rightmost unicorn. Isaac nodded to the one on the left. They broke off, leaving the center unicorn to decide which of her allies needed backup the most.

Maybe they _had_ meant to send twelve after two, because Jackson and Isaac took out their targets almost effortlessly. Jackson turned grinning toward the last unicorn to find Cassie already there with a claw to her throat, clearly facing the outside ring of unicorns.

"Send us back," she demanded, baring her fangs. Her eyes glowed violet.

"You will surrender," one of the unicorns ordered.

"We will not." Jackson scoffed.

"Your pack will answer for their crimes against us," another unicorn said.

"You do realize you're kidnappers, right?" Isaac asked.

"But not murderers," said the first unicorn. "Your friend killed two of ours."

"Stiles is dead now. Or dying. It's hard to tell with how empty he is..." Isaac's features softened as he ran a hand over his eyes. "Thera was controlling him. She... sneaked in somehow. We didn't know." His eyes turned glassy, and Jackson realized it was an act to drive the unicorns away. Jackson made himself look suitably sad and noticed Cassie had already summoned a tear to slide down her cheek.

"...And Pentanthera?"

"In there with him. We think they're fighting. We just hope... We'll deal with whoever wins." Isaac's eyes hardened at the end.

"You all are not powerful enough to take on—"

"That's funny," Jackson cut in. "Because you thought Scott was strong enough all by himself. But somehow his entire united pack is weaker?"

"Scott is ours."

"No," Cassie said, and she smiled now. "We removed the horn."

"That's not..."

"Possible?" She offered. "We're a very special group."

The unicorn gaped at her. "You're lying."

She pulled her claw from the throat of the unicorn she held captive and grasped her horn instead. "You can tell if I'm lying if I do this, right?"

"Yes."

"We removed Scott's horn, and he survived." She kept her voice slow and measured, then pulled her hand away with a smirk. "Now, if you don't mind, we have better things to do." She twirled a finger to indicate the circle of unicorns holding them in the wrong dimension.

"She's telling the truth," The unicorn said. "Scott is theirs."

The circled unicorns shifted, glancing at each other as if each feared to make the wrong decision. One of them stood and shook his head. "I hope you're as able as you claim. If you take care of Pentanthera, we'll move on and leave you be." The others stood and were replaced by buildings and open air like a sudden cut in a film.

**~.x.~**

Thera smirked with Stiles' mouth, sitting on the couch with one of his legs crossed over the other and one arm thrown across the back. Derek fought the urge to smash things until the house fell down around them and sat as still as possible in an armchair instead. John sat on the other end of the couch with his arm on the armrest. Stilinski stood with his hand on Derek's shoulder, but he gripped so tightly Derek thought he might have welcomed destruction too.

"Calm down, boys. You know you won't hurt me in this body." Thera ran a finger down Stiles' cheek. "You might as well get used to me."

"Really?" John asked, and his surprise sounded genuine to Derek's ears. "You intend to stay?"

"For a while." Her smile was mysterious, but Derek thought it might have been an act. There was no reason for Thera to stay in Beacon Hills.

Unless she couldn't leave.

"Where is my son? Or should I say our son since I'm both of his parents now?" She giggled.

Derek scowled at her, willing her to take her hand off Stiles' inner thigh. Stilinski's hand trembled on Derek's shoulder.

"I asked a question." Her rage was cold. It shouldn't have fit so well on Stiles' face.

"Would your son be the lovely dark boy with the pack?" John asked. "Because I'm afraid he's out searching for something I've lost."

"And what would that be?"

"I'd rather not say."

Stiles' eyebrows pulled down over Thera's eyes. "I never said you had a choice."

John swallowed nervously and wiped his palms on his pants. Derek smelled his sweat over the stink of death on him. "My next body."

"You let it run away?" Thera raised Stiles' eyebrows in judgment.

"A wolf pack slaughtered those I kept near me. Sending him on the run was the only way. I just didn't expect his sister to keep him from _me_ as well." John shook his head. "I'd be proud if I wasn't angry."

A brother and sister on the run. Their family killed by wolves. They knew about Thera and wanted something from her. Derek kept his tongue still, but he knew John's surname was Mortimer now. He texted it to Isaac, then deleted the text. Thera watched him handle the phone but kept her own silence. When Isaac didn't text back, Derek messaged Lydia.

_We know. They're dead. Thera killed them,_ Lydia texted back. _Daemyn buried them by his cave. We're there now._ Derek deleted that conversation. He was getting better at that.

Thera killed them. Maybe Derek could turn John against Thera.

"You should have mentioned," Derek said, playing casual easily now that he knew what to do. "That you were looking for Mina and Chase. It would have sped things up." He crossed his ankle over the opposite knee and smiled too widely. Thera gave him a warning look.

"I expected them to keep clear of wolves," John said. "How do you know them?"

Derek chuckled even though Stiles' father looked at him like he'd gone insane. "They got themselves into a little trouble trying to make a werespider. Thera can tell you all about it; she helped us out with that one." He motioned to Thera. John's gaze darted between them. He knew Derek was being too amicable now. He had to. Unless he was an idiot, but Derek didn't think Thera liked to associate with idiots.

"I'd rather know where they went after the problem was taken care of." He didn't see it yet. His animosity was still aimed at Derek.

"They ran during Thera's spell to fix the problem. Too much chance of the spider attacking them for some sort of revenge." Derek shook his head like that was a shame. He almost wished Cassie had slaughtered them, except that she had enough to deal with already. "They turned up again to kidnap Stiles as a lure for your fae friend, and the last any of us saw of them was when Stiles and Daemyn ran from the cave."

"I don't quite catch what you're sending out here, son." He did though. Derek could feel it in the thrum of John's heartbeat.

"Nothing. Just Thera's got to finish the story from here since she saw them last. Before they died, I mean. Daemyn found what was left of them in the cave after that." Derek shrugged.

John sighed an old man's sigh. "Not much different from last time then, eh, Thera?" He slipped a hand into his coat pocket.

"You're the one who didn't keep spares." She shrugged.

"Tell me, dear, what's it like to be dead?" The toothy grin he flashed made him look nearly skeletal as his thin skin stretched over bone. "I've always wondered. Strangely, the dead can never tell."

"I left behind the part of me that died, so I'm afraid I can't tell you either." She smiled sweetly with Stiles' lips, and Derek wondered if John meant to try anything after all about the time he realized John might try something that could hurt _Stiles_ instead of just Thera.

"Such a shame."

John's hand leapt from his pocket as he lurched toward Stiles. He was holding a pair of scissors with stunted, jagged blades. Thera didn't have time to respond as the blades neared Stiles' neck. Derek crossed the room in the blink of an eye, but it was done by the time he grabbed John's hand.

A tiny spot of blood welled on the side of Stiles' neck, and Thera pouted over it as she glared at John. His scissors hadn't aimed for flesh. They had cut the black chain holding the garnet around Stiles' neck. It fell to the floor with a thud. The stone looked dim and lifeless lying between Stiles' feet even though Derek couldn't imagine why a stone would look lively. Thera looked angry and frightened. That was enough for Derek, but it hurt to see the strain on Stiles' face. Derek couldn't imagine how Stilinski must feel. He stepped back and turned to find Stilinski's expression harder than he had expected.

Thera lurched toward John and dug Stiles' fingers into the old man's throat. He drove the scissors into Stiles' arm. Thera let go, howling in pain. She tore out the scissors and held a hand over the wound as John backed away into a shadow and disappeared. Thera scowled at the scissors he had left behind.

"Why didn't you stop him?" Thera turned on Derek. "He'll be back now, and he'll try to kill your precious Stiles."

"He'll be trying to kill _you_." Derek crossed his arms and hoped Stilinski knew better than to listen to Thera.

"But he'll take us both in the end. Killing the host is the easiest way."

"Nice to know."

"You can't fool me, Derek." Thera grinned. "You won't let anything hurt the one you love."

Derek felt the pang of loss then. "We never had time to fall in love. You robbed us of that." He had wanted to love Stiles as much as he had feared to. He and Stiles could have been amazing or terrible, but now they would never know.

"Aw, I think you hurt Stiles' feelings." Thera smirked.

"You hurt them worse."

"It's not a competition." Derek had expected something more creative from Thera.

"Well not anymore. You took the prize by a mile and may have broken a record or two in the process."

When the blue of Thera's eyes faded, it surprised Derek. He supposed that was creative.

"I don't know what you're trying to do, Derek," Stiles said, and his voice sounded tired even though it hadn't been long since Thera took over. "But you should go. Keep the pack as far from me as possible and let John take care of us." He turned away from Derek. "Sorry, Dad."

"Nothing to be sorry for, Son." But his voice was strained and uneven. "I love you."

"Love you too."

Stiles turned back to Derek, walked straight up to him, and shoved him. Derek refused to be budged. "Go," Stiles commanded. "I don't want you here." The truth of that stung.

"No." Derek couldn't leave him like this.

"You said yourself we aren't in love. You don't owe me anything." Stiles shoved him again, but Derek stayed firm.

"You're pack."

"I told you before that I'm not."

"You were wrong." It was more complicated than that, but in the end, Stiles was pack.

"That doesn't mean you can save me."

"I can try." Derek tried to keep his voice and expression hard, but by the way Stiles' eyes softened, he thought he had failed.

Then Stiles' eyes turned to blue.

"Wow, you two are..." Thera waved a hand to say there were no words. A smirk spread across Stiles' lips, and she lifted his arms to Derek's shoulders. "I assume you'll want to guard us closely." She pressed in against Derek. "Very closely."

Derek stepped back and broke her hold on him. "Don't bother, Thera. I know I'm not your type."

"I'm impressed that you'd notice, but it doesn't matter. You're _his_ type. And he's yours."

Derek remembered pieces of what his mother told him about faeries. They ruined people just because they could, because they thought it was fun. Give them an inch, and they've got you in full. They would tell the truth only because it hid their lies, and they would play honest only because it hid their cheating. The pack knew Thera's lies by now, and she'd already cheated her way into Stiles' body. No matter how much he tried to hide it, Thera had Derek by more than an inch, and by her smirk she knew it. Derek pushed back his memories of the fae because all they told him was that he had already lost.

**~.x.~**

Lydia felt her lip trembling and willed it to stop. When it didn't, she bit into it so hard she tasted blood. Daemyn's eyes had gone wide when he realized Lydia wasn't ready for this, but Peter had only chuckled deep in his throat and said he liked her gloves. Lydia breathed, and air passed her teeth and the blood on her lip.

"Dae and I will start on moving the dirt," Peter said. He sounded more mocking than sympathetic, but Lydia nodded. She tried to look at the trees but found her gaze drawn to Peter again and again the same way it was drawn to the red mess and twisted limbs of road kill. Peter's face made her think less of dead animals than going insane. "I don't suppose you have a shovel?" Peter tilted his head toward Daemyn as he spoke.

Daemyn shook his head.

"How did you bury them?"

Daemyn shrugged. "Magic."

"Of course." Peter rolled his eyes, and when they landed on Daemyn again, they glowed blue. His teeth stretched into fangs and his nails into claws. Lydia tried to turn away from the changes as he shifted to his beta wolf form, but she couldn't. She tried to step backward but stayed rooted to the ground.

Peter glanced back at her and smiled around his teeth.

A scream caught in Lydia's throat, but he turned away and began clawing at the ground. It would be slow going even with added strength and speed. His hands weren't built to shovel dirt.

Daemyn inched closer to Lydia as Peter dug. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

She shook her head, searching for her voice. "Peter and I have history," she choked out. Peter's shoulders moved with silent laughter, and Lydia fought down the urge to hurl a spear through his midsection. She didn't have a spear.

"Oh my God, please tell me you don't mean dating history." Lydia hated him for thinking it, but at least he looked sufficiently disgusted at the idea.

"God no." Lydia's breathing steadied as she focused on Daemyn, even if her thoughts fixed on Peter. She refused to think about kissing Peter. "He left a ghost of himself inside my brain and forced me to bring him back from the dead, but only after haunting me and driving me crazy."

"You can do that?" She heard his plea to help his parents and wondered which one he wanted saved.

"It was a special case. He also used Derek and the moon."

"The moon and I are close friends," Peter grunted as he dug. "We speak every night and have tea together on Thursdays."

"That explains the howling." Lydia pursed her lips even though Peter's eyes stayed on the graves. It was a habit, a coping mechanism, a well-polished mask in shades of pink and red. She cast off the last of her trembling with a long breath and turned to Daemyn. "Do you know anything else about the necromancer?"

Daemyn furrowed his eyebrows in concentration and stared at Lydia's feet instead of her face. "When Mother was cursed, it was because she taught a human necromancy. I think it was him."

"That's not how she explained it to Stiles." Lydia crossed her arms.

"No, humans generally see necromancers as villains. She would hide it."

"Do _you_ see necromancers as villains?"

"Usually, but I'm also part human. Fae don't fear it because they don't die the way mortals do."

"What does that mean?"

"They don't leave behind a body for necromancers to control, and their spirits are powerful enough to resist human control even after death."

"But that's not true for you?"

Daemyn shook his head. "It might have been one day, if I'd stayed with my mom long enough, but I'm with humans now."

"Please explain how that makes sense," Peter called from the graves. He had dug deeply enough that Lydia barely saw him past the mound of dirt piled between them. Maybe not such slow going after all.

"Half fae can be more fae, more human, sort of in the middle, or more variable. I'm the last one, so I'll reflect the people live with." He paused. "Well, not the werewolves."

Peter laughed again, and Lydia tensed against the sound as her heart raced. He laughed at that too.

**~.x.~**

Scott and Erica loped through the ashen forest, but they slowed to run on two feet when they reached the town limits again. He tried to tell Erica she had soot in her hair, but she slapped him and told him to focus because their brother and sister were in trouble. It took him a moment to remember she meant Isaac and Cassie. He still wasn't very good at thinking in terms of pack the way Erica did.

Before they even reached a starting place, Scott's phone rang. He answered as they ran, and grabbed Erica's arm to stop her when he recognized Isaac's voice.

"We're fine," Isaac assured them both once they stopped to listen. "Peter, Daemyn, and Lydia are at the cave. Boyd and Allison are on their way there. Jackson met up with Cassie and I, and we took on a few unicorns. They know we removed your horn." He paused then. "And Stiles is... Derek says Thera's taken over, but that Stiles is there with her."

"So he's not dead?" Hope swelled so powerfully in Scott that he couldn't help but smile.

"Not yet. John ran off, and he might go after Stiles since apparently Thera killed his way-great grandchildren."

"He's not just gonna exorcise her?" Scott had thought that was the plan all along.

"I don't think he can."

"Then what do we do?" Scott needed to know there was a way to save Stiles.

"Derek wants you and Erica to head back to help guard Stiles for now. Cassie, Jackson, and I are going to track John. Deaton says he's put what protections he can on Stiles' house, but there's not a lot he can do against a faerie and a necromancer."

Scott agreed even though it wasn't much of a plan. At least it didn't involve killing innocent people the way Derek's plans usually did.

**~.x.~**

Stilinski sat at his dining room table with Derek Hale across from him. They had told the others over the phone what happened. Derek glared at the tabletop like all he needed to make everything right was more anger. Stilinski wasn't sure if he should be worried this was the sort of man his son chose or impressed that he'd reached through the rage to the person beneath. Then he remembered it didn't matter because there was a monster wearing his child's skin.

He drew in a shaky breath and swallowed before blowing it out again.

"There is one thing we haven't considered yet." The words threatened to stop up his throat and passed his teeth slowly with their thickness. He thought he lost Stiles after the forest fire, but now he had a chance to glimpse him past the faerie, not always, but more than he could have before. And if he had that, then he could save his son still, there was hope. It was too good to be true.

Derek looked up at him but did not answer. A muscle in his cheek twitched.

"He could be a lie." His voice broke at the last word. Stilinski ran a hand over his face, wishing he could wash away that sentence and the thoughts behind it. If Stiles was real, then letting out glimpses of him would manipulate his loved ones, but if Stiles was an act, he'd work just the same. Part of Stilinski couldn't believe he could get his son back after what happened, and another part believed he would _always_ get his son back, whatever happened.

Derek glanced toward the hall, but they were safe. Thera was playing with Stiles' things, sorting through which ones she liked and which ones she would destroy. Stilinski had doubted her claim that she would be staying until she started in on Stiles' closet. He still couldn't decide if this was better.

"Who?" Of course Derek would try not to face it. He might have been in his twenties, but he was still a kid.

"Stiles. She has enough power to change eye color, and maybe she can access his memories." He raised a hand to stop the outburst he saw coming in the way Derek tensed himself like an animal about to leap on its prey. "I'm not saying he is, just that he could be. And that we should be prepared for it." Not that either of them could prepare for anything, not really.

Derek deflated. Pale and shaken without even anger to keep him going, he looked like a broken boy left alone in the world. Stilinski knew as well as everyone else in town what had happened to the Hales. The woman who did it was dead now, but Stilinski knew that wouldn't have helped either. He hoped Derek had nothing to do with that. He hoped Derek had nothing to do with any of the 'animal attacks' in Beacon Hills.

"There's nothing we can do if he's not real." Derek's voice was smaller now, broken open with his weakness tumbling out.

"I meant we should prepare ourselves."

Derek nodded with his eyes on the table again.

"If you can get out, you should."

Derek's eyes narrowed.

"Daemyn and I will be here, so he won't be alone. And you'll be better off if you stay away. I know you want to help. I just want you to know you have a way out." Derek was too old for Stiles, but he was still essentially a kid.

Derek shook his head. "He's pack. I'll stay."

"Translate for an old man who didn't grow up with werewolves. What exactly does 'pack' mean?"

Derek looked Stilinski in the eye and gave him exactly the answer he'd feared. "It means family."


	22. With Stiles

Yes, they were definitely dead. They stank of rot even to Lydia's senses, and she wondered how Peter could stand it before she remembered he deserved to suffer. She covered her mouth with a gloved hand and wondered what anyone expected her to find. She was a scientist and a mathematician, not an occult expert or a magician. Deaton should have been here.

Daemyn pointed to bags each of the Mortimers wore around their necks. They were similar to the one Deaton had given Lydia. "These were hiding them," he said.

"Well, that's one question answered: the thing hiding the thing John wanted was also the thing John wanted." Lydia hoped Daemyn would find their other answers as easily, but she wasn't even certain of the other questions.

Peter snickered. Lydia glared at him and reminded herself they were not alone, but a thirteen-year-old half-fae made for scant protection compared to a werewolf and a hunter. Lydia wished she and Peter were _more_ not alone. She had used her phone's GPS to find the cave's location and sent it to the others, but it would take them a lot longer to reach her than it had taken her to be pulled away.

Lydia stepped toward the corpses because even they seemed like better company than Peter Hale. She knelt beside Daemyn, careful to keep her mouth covered, and steeled herself to face unpreserved bodies. She had seen pictures before and knew what to expect. The smell was beyond description, but she'd had time to adjust.

The bodies were bloated and discolored, but despite a stab wound in Mina's abdomen, there was no insect activity. Lydia prodded the bodies, thankful for her gloves. Even in the folds and crevices of clothing and skin, she found no insects. They should have been there.

"What are you looking for?" Daemyn asked.

"Insects feed on decomposing bodies and lay eggs in them, but I don't see any here."

"Would it matter that they're buried?"

Lydia gave Daemyn a flat look and hoped he understood how dumb an idea that was. "There are bugs in the ground too."

"Oh. Yeah." He rubbed at his neck in embarrassment. "What would keep the bugs away?"

"There are some chemicals that could, but I doubt you or Thera doused them in anything." Lydia considered for a moment but thought of no reasonable mundane possibility. "It's got to be some sort of magic."

"There's so much magic here, it's hard to see individual spells..." Daemyn squinted at the bodies, and Lydia wondered what magic could possibly look like. She pictured cheap movie effects of smoke and light.

"They're the descendants of a necromancer," Peter said, coming up behind them to stare at the Mortimers as well. "Maybe it's standard to cast some sort of preservation spell so they can be brought back to do his bidding?"

"Necromancy usually has more to do with communicating with the dead than animating their corpses," Daemyn said. "It's extremely noticeable and takes a lot of power."

"So you're saying it's more about their spirits than their bodies?" Lydia began searching the bodies for any sort of talisman like the bags around their necks.

"Not quite as thrilling," Peter said practically in Lydia's ear. She barely stifled a scream.

"I assure you it's plenty thrilling." It was an old man's voice, and Lydia turned toward it to find John watching them with a smile.

"You weren't there a moment ago. I'd have noticed the stink." Peter drew back from Lydia to focus on John.

"It took me some time to find this place. A lot of power has been used all over Beacon Hills recently. I've spent far too much time at a different cave in a different part of the woods. Now, please step away from my grandchildren."

"Or what? You'll tell us how you walked uphill both ways to get here?" Peter looked too smug.

"That doesn't make any sense," Lydia told him as she stripped off her gloves and dropped them beside the corpses.

"It's an age joke. Because he's old."

"He didn't even walk here."

"Teleported uphill both ways through the shadows between life and death. Whatever."

"He's only gone one way so far."

"You don't know that. He's had a lot of time to experiment."

Lydia couldn't think of anything else to say, so she looked at Peter like he'd sprouted an extra foot from the side of his face. Disgusted with a side of surprise. She thought he got the message, but it wasn't much different from how she usually looked at him.

"Your banter neither amuses nor distracts me. Let me see my grandchildren." John took a step forward, but only the one.

"You mean your meat-suit and his sister?" Lydia raised her chin defiantly.

"No, I mean my meat-suit and the baby maker to ensure future meat-suits." The old man scowled. "They're corpses now. I can't _use_ them. Just let me say goodbye." His tone implied offense, like he'd actually seen them as people instead of tools. Most of the outdated old bigots Lydia knew got offended when you pointed out how horrible they were.

She looked to Peter and Daemyn, pretending for the moment not to fear one and pity the other. "Well, boys, what do we think of that?"

"He _is_ a necromancer, and they _are_ dead," Peter said.

"Now that I think of it," Daemyn said as though he'd just realized how to find out the solution to an equation. "Maybe John can tell us why we didn't find any insects on the bodies."

"Ah, yes, that would set my mind to rest." Peter nodded as though the question had plagued him for some time.

"You children have no right—"

"I'm not exactly a child," Peter pointed out.

"Compared to me you are."

"Fair point. Continue on about the rights we don't have."

Lydia rolled her eyes and caught Daemyn doing the same.

"They are my flesh and blood, and you can't keep me from them or demand payment for being near them."

"You wanted one of them to be your flesh and blood in a much more literal sense, as I recall." Peter smirked like he'd said something clever.

"At least that one makes sense," Lydia conceded.

"Thank you, dear."

She didn't tell him not to call her 'dear.'

"But you forgot to mention the part where we both _can_ keep him from them and _have_ made an informal request for information." Lydia raised her shoulder slightly and looked over it at Peter before turning back to John. She knew the motion was flirty and hoped it made her seem unafraid.

"You did not care for them." John said. "You used them and cast them out of your town." His civility began to fall before his rage.

"No, we helped them out of a mess they made for themselves and then helped them escape from it." Lydia inclined her head and narrowed her eyes. "They repaid us by kidnapping one of my best friends."

Beside her, Peter gave a toothy grin. "We are very protective of our pack."

"That's common among wolves." John frowned at them.

"We aren't all wolves." Peter set a hand on Lydia's shoulder, and she wondered how he meant her to be threatening to an inhumanly old necromancer. She hoped John didn't notice the way she froze at Peter's touch and flashed him a smile to cover it up if he had. If there was any decency in the world, Peter would stop touching her soon. Or now.

"I can see that."

"So," Lydia said, forcing a smiled to spread across her face. "Would you like me to repeat the question?"

"My line does not decompose the way most humans do. I've found it convenient at times to fake the continued life of my descendants." He eyed the bodies. "They have protected themselves from me well enough to begin decomposition, but my power is still driving off the insects." He looked back at them, and Lydia realized he was directing his answer at her specifically. "That is the best guess I have without examining them more closely."

"That's not at all creepy," Peter said.

"Like you're one to talk about creepy." Lydia followed the comment with a lighthearted laugh, like she was teasing a close friend. She thought it incredibly convincing and expected a best actress award in her hands within the week.

"You have your answer." John frowned past them, staring at his grandchildren's graves.

"Boys?" Lydia looked from Peter to Daemyn. She doubted they could keep the bodies from John indefinitely, but maybe one of them had a better idea.

"We do have that." Peter removed his hand from Lydia's shoulder to cross his arms and nod as though John had a point.

"We also have his grandchildren," Daemyn said.

"I believe the general consensus is that we have things." Lydia wasn't sure where to go from here. Could they just hand the bodies over? Would John turn against them once they were of no use to him? Could he help them with Stiles? Would he? "There is one thing we don't have though." She smiled at John again. "Our reward for finding your lost items. I believe you promised to save our friend."

"That was before Thera completed her possession. The only way to save the boy now is to kill him along with the fae, and I'd be happy to help you with that."

"We aren't killing him." Daemyn bit off each word before spitting them at John.

"Then I've already done all I can." John spread his hands.

Lydia looked to Peter.

He nodded under her gaze. "He's telling the truth."

"Then we have no use for him." She narrowed her eyes. "Remind me, Peter, what do we do with things we have no use for?"

He grinned. "We throw them away, or if we're very good people, we recycle them."

Lydia laughed and was impressed by how clear it sounded. "Come on, boys." She turned from the Mortimers and led Peter and Daemyn into the forest surrounding the cave. "But, John," she called over her shoulder, "You should leave town."

When they were out of earshot, Peter said, "I'm impressed. It's a shame you're immune."

"Yeah, if I weren't, you'd still be dead." Lydia smirked and walked ahead of him even though she knew he could outpace her easily if he wanted. Peter's laughter followed her through the trees.

**~.x.~**

With John Mortimer and the unicorns both, at least temporarily, dealt with, the pack regrouped at the Stilinski house. It was a while before they all arrived, and Derek watched them trickle in silently. Thera had tired of Stiles' room and attached herself to Derek's side. She kept running Stiles' hands over him, and Derek hated himself every time he checked in case Stiles' eyes were brown instead of blue. Eventually, he settled for sitting with his arms crossed over his chest and staring straight ahead.

The others noticed. There was nothing he could do.

Scott tried to pull Thera off Derek at first, but that proved fruitless. He had retreated to the kitchen after that. Derek smelled potato chips and listened to the crunch as Scott ate them, but Scott stayed in the kitchen long after he finished snacking. Erica tried verbal sparring, but she was no match for Thera. It made her angry rather than embarrassed, but her anger didn't help either. She settled in the armchair beside Stilinski's, and by the looks she kept sending him, she spent her time wondering how he could stand to see his son like that.

Derek wondered the same thing until he realized Stilinski couldn't stand it at all. His heart beat too fast for too long, and his fingers dug into the arms of the chair as he stared at Thera with too blank an expression. Derek wondered how long it would be before Stilinski snapped. Derek wondered how long it would be before _he_ snapped too.

Jackson, Cassie, and Isaac reached the house together. Cassie took a seat on the arm of Erica's chair and whispered about the unicorns. Isaac joined Scott in the kitchen, but on the way, he stopped to rest a hand on Derek's shoulder and squeeze to show his support. Still, Derek noted that his tension only faded when he reached Scott. Jackson took in the silent gathering in the living room with a bitter smile and raised eyebrows before going down the hall to Stiles' room. Derek growled when he heard Jackson collapse into Stiles' bed, and Jackson told him to relax softly enough that only the werewolves heard.

Thera nuzzled Derek's neck and whispered something about a threesome with Jackson that sent Jackson into a coughing fit in the bedroom and made Derek clench his jaw so tightly his lips parted in a sneer.

"I _am_ everyone's type," Jackson said when he recovered, but he was the only one who laughed.

Allison joined the group with a poison stare for Derek. It slowly shifted to pity as she watched him from a chair Scott pulled in for her from the kitchen before retreating with the excuse that Isaac needed him for something. No one listened to him. It was a lie to avoid seeing Stiles this way, and Derek knew no one could blame him for that. Boyd followed Allison and stood behind her chair once she was sitting. He declined a halfhearted offer for a seat of his own and settled into a stoic stare that Derek wished would unsettle Thera as much as it would have Stiles.

Lydia arrived laughing. She and Peter had been trading banter since they entered Derek's range of hearing, and he wondered when they had become so friendly until they got close enough for him to smell Lydia's fear-sweat. Daemyn was with them, and when he came through the door, Thera finally pulled away from Derek.

"Daemyn," she cooed, but the tone was off in Stiles' voice. "Come here." She spread Stiles' arms for a hug, but Daemyn stared at her, frozen in the doorway.

Lydia moved between Thera and Daemyn. "Leave him alone."

"I'm his mother. And his father."

"That's the problem." When Lydia stood her ground, Thera sent her flying with a wave of her hand. She crashed into Peter with enough forced to slam them both against the wall. They knocked over a lamp on the way, and the bulb shattered with a too-loud crash in the stillness of the room. Jackson was at Lydia's side before Peter could ask if she was alright, but Derek still saw the words forming on his uncle's lips and wondered what game he was playing. Scott and Isaac rushed in from the kitchen and froze with everyone else, watching Thera and Daemyn.

Thera advanced on Daemyn and pulled him into a one-sided hug. "What's the matter? Aren't you happy to see your mother?"

"I'd hoped not to." Daemyn's voice deepened with his bitterness.

Thera threw him to the ground. "I taught you better manners than that," she snarled, twisting Stiles' features to fit her madness and rage.

"No, you didn't." Daemyn rolled his eyes and propped himself on his elbows. "You only taught me how to kill my father."

"You failed as I recall."

"Well, good on me." He smirked, but it fit darkly on his face.

"Thera," Stilinski said from his armchair in a voice harder than steel. "Remember that's my grandson."

Thera laughed. "Is that a threat? Because this," she clutched Stiles' neck with fingers arched and nails digging into the skin, "Is your son." The voice came out strained with the pressure on the neck. Thera let go with another laugh, and reddened half-moons stood out on Stiles' neck where his nails had been.

"I don't make threats I don't plan to follow through." Stilinski's face remained hard. As Thera's smile widened he added, "So I want you to know that if you hurt my son or my grandson again, I will kill you." Thera threw back her head and drowned the room in her laughter, but Stilinski never flinched. Derek vowed silently to help him.

Daemyn took Thera's seat beside Derek and leaned back against the cushions of the couch with a sigh. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly in through his nose and out past his lips.

Thera bared Stiles' teeth in what didn't quite pass for a smile. "Well, since everyone's here," she said, "I can tell you all together that you're fucked." Now she did smile. "I'm staying here for now. You can't stop me, and you can't save Stiles, but he is here with me, at least until I get bored of him."

"Good," Allison said, standing from her chair. Boyd set a hand on her shoulder as she spoke. "Then you'll be nearby for when we exorcise you and save him."

"Clean out your ears, girl. I just said you can't do it."

"Clean out yours, old woman. I just said we can." Allison showed no fear, and Derek admired her for it. She had no defense against Thera.

"What about my boys? What do you think?" Thera turned to Derek and Daemyn on the couch.

"We're with Allison," Derek said. Daemyn continued to stare at the backs of his eyelids.

"Of course you are." Thera shook her head like the pack was just confused, but she was wrong, Derek realized.

They had never been a cohesive pack or had much of a clue what they were doing. Derek remembered the unity of his old pack and knew this pack would never have that, but they had something else. Every one of them, even Peter, wanted to save Stiles. Derek didn't just think it, he _felt_ it. He knew, without a doubt, the lengths to which each of them would go. Not all of them were equal, but they didn't need to be. Stiles was their focus now, but he wasn't their end goal. Derek finally understood why everyone followed Scott's example above his. They wanted to help. Each pack member had their own way of reaching the world, but each of them hoped that by their reaching, they would make something better.

Derek swallowed past the strain in his throat. He had a pack of heroes and no way to lead them, no right to lead them, but he was the alpha. There was something happening, whether in him or in the pack. He didn't understand it, but he felt it because he felt _them._ Derek had always been able to hear heartbeats and smell pheromones so it seemed like he knew what people were feeling, but this was different, stronger, more direct. He didn't infer their emotions, he felt them.

It wasn't a one-way street. Derek could tell that much. He reached for their will to help, their determination to save Stiles and mixed them together inside himself. Then he pushed it back out so they could see what he saw, could see themselves as heroes with enough power to save their friend. It stopped outside each person, and Derek realized it was waiting for permission.

Isaac let him in first. "Oh my God." It was more breath than voice. His eyes widened, roaming the room until they landed on Derek. When he opened himself to whatever this bond was, Derek became more aware of him than before. The original feeling was what made them a pack, but now he had what made Isaac a person too. When Erica and Boyd joined Isaac, it became almost too much to keep track of. Derek clenched his teeth against it and tried to push it back so every detail didn't jump out at him. They sensed his struggle and dialed themselves back. Surrendered less.

Daemyn set his hand on Derek's arm and accepted the bond. His eyes burned a brighter blue than usual for a moment before fading to normal. He looked around the room like he'd never seen these people before, and Derek supposed he hadn't. Not like this. Erica took Cassie's hand and whispered that it was okay. Cassie hesitated but accepted the encouragement and the pack. She squeaked when the bond formed.

By this point, Thera knew something was up, but Derek didn't think she understood. This, whatever it was, must have been some kind of secret. Derek hadn't even known, and he'd been a werewolf his whole life. Maybe it could help them, maybe Thera really didn't know.

Stilinski let it in. Derek wondered if they could feel what was in the bond he had sent out because he didn't see why anything but the dedication to Stiles would convince Stilinski to accept. Derek hadn't even realized Stilinski was in his pack. Maybe he should have. Lydia followed him, and it felt different through her than the others. Cloudier, like Derek wasn't the one in control after all. Derek wondered if _anything_ went through Lydia like it did other people. She squeezed Jackson's hand, and he rolled his eyes before accepting the bond. He was almost as cloudy as Lydia, and Derek thought that might not have been her innate magic after all. Peter came through like talking to someone through a brick wall, though Derek was surprised he came through at all. Peter was neither a hero nor a fan of Derek's. Still, he accepted but did not surrender. Derek wondered if he had known about this. Peter seemed to know everything.

Scott stepped forward, eyes on Derek as his mind held the bond off without denying it fully. There were questions in his eyes, but Derek couldn't answer him. He wondered why the others had accepted before Scott instead of waiting for him to take lead. They trusted and admired Scott. They didn't leave him in the dust.

Isaac took hold of Scott's wrist and turned him away from Derek. "It's not about him," he said. "It's about us. All of us." Scott nodded. He had to know he was the center of this more than Derek. Everyone in the pack wanted to be a hero, but Scott always had been. He was the only one who always did what he knew was right. No one could question his motives, just his naiveté, and since he almost always succeeded, even that could be justified. He accepted the bond, and Derek knew he had never doubted everyone else, had always believed they were great people and just got confused sometimes. Even Derek. Maybe not Peter. He pushed Derek back a little after that, but not fully out.

Allison eyed everyone. They had all turned to her. Her eyes lingered on Derek before traveling to Isaac and Scott. Scott nodded, and she nodded back before opening herself to the bond. She didn't block Derek as strongly as Peter had, but he thought that was because she didn't know how, not because she didn't want to. She didn't want to be part of Derek, but she was already part of something bigger. Her eyes still widened in surprise and wonder at her new awareness of everyone in the room. Then she turned her eyes on Thera, and the rest of the pack followed suit.

Derek had thought of them as his pack for a long time, but he didn't think they were. They had just been a bunch of people who sometimes had to work together, but _now_ they were pack. For a moment, Stiles' mind slipped through past Thera to accept the bond before she blocked him off again. Derek made sure everyone felt Stiles, even if just for a moment, because the reason they had formed this pack was to save him. Derek stood and made a show of brushing off his jeans and giving Thera his best shit-eating grin. "We're with Stiles," he said.

He saw fear in Thera's blue eyes before she could stamp it out.


	23. Grey Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning. Nicole actually recommended I alter this chapter due to its content. I have changed some of the specifics, but you can go to the bottom author’s note for a full summary of the first viewpoint section of this chapter and the actual listing of the trigger, so you don’t have to read that section if it may trigger you.

Sometimes Stiles felt the pack reaching for him, but Thera held them at bay, making sure Stiles knew that his consciousness survived only to amuse her. He saw when she wanted to show him his pack's pain. He heard when she wanted him to understand that the pack had no idea how to help him. He controlled his own body when she wanted to tease his loved ones with him, holding him out like a carrot on a stick. Otherwise Stiles lived with emptiness.

Even now he wanted something to burn.

The want reminded him of the emptiness in his chest, but Thera wore his chest now. Stiles could not feel it. Stiles tried to lick his lips because he still thought in physical terms, but he was no longer a physical being. He had no lips, no tongue, and no saliva. No voice to laugh away his bitterness, rage, and fear. No tears, no eyes to shed them, and no cheeks to smooth their way to the jaw he didn't have before dripping onto the shirt he couldn't wear.

Thera reached into Stiles' void and shook him out. He stumbled at the physicality of his body and the force of gravity against it. Thera sat behind his eyes ready to reclaim control. They were in the restroom. Thera's dirty clothes—ones she had bought for Stiles' body after claiming it—sat neatly folded atop the toilet, and the shower was running.

Stiles steadied himself against the wall and glanced down at his nakedness. He wiggled his toes against the cool tile and breathed methodically, in and out. Thera had already gotten bored with basic human needs. Eating she enjoyed, but anything taking place in the restroom was Stiles' job again. He had never imagined taking a dump and brushing his teeth would be the highlights of his days, but they were his only guaranteed moments of freedom. Sometimes Thera liked to shower just because she enjoyed touching Stiles' body.

Stiles tested the water temperature and raised it before stepping under the fall. The heat stung against his skin, and Stiles imagined the beat of the water echoing through him. He raised his face to the stream of water and let it wash over him until Thera pushed him to stop wasting time. Then he turned and began washing himself while Thera watched. Sometimes she told him to run his hands again over certain parts of his body, like he was her personal choose-your-own-adventure porn star. Maybe he was.

There were moments when Stiles felt Thera's attention slip away. Her thoughts became more interesting than his actions, and she forgot to watch over him. It almost felt like being alone again. Almost. Stiles had used the last one to hide something in the shower beneath his bar soap, which Thera never used since it didn't smell interesting enough compared to the six scented body washes she'd found at the mall. Now he felt her thoughts straying and lifted the soap to reveal a razor blade against the ceramic tub, surrounded by water. Droplets fell from his fingers as he reached for it. Thera was focused on something about her broken necklace. Stiles chuckled.

The internet told him how to do it even if it had also told him not to. This was only one of countless pieces of useless information he'd looked up when his mind wandered, but he supposed it wasn't so useless now. Stiles sat under the flow of water and found the vein of his forearm to dig the blade along it. He slipped up and lost the vein, found it again, and gritted his teeth against the pain. When he's finished the first cut, he made another, deeper. He felt the hot tears in his eyes even with the shower spraying water over him. The next cut missed because his hand was shaking. Stiles jerked the blade from the edge of his wrist and brought it again to the vein.

Stiles hoped one arm would be enough. He didn't think he could hold the small blade in his hand after this. Blood gushed from his wrist to land over his lap and the tub basin. His whole body trembled against the pain. It felt more like a flaming broadsword pounding through his wrist than a tiny razor blade.

Thera realized something was wrong and threw the blade from the shower around the curtain. It bounced off the tile and landed on the rug in front of the sink. Stiles remembered his mother had picked out the rug and curtain for this bathroom before she died. He didn't have enough memories of her, but somehow standing in the store and whining about wanting to play at the park while she debated between fuchsia and teal stood out in his mind. Stiles stared at the now-worn rug, leaning back against the tub while the shower beat against his skin. Each second that passed felt like the lifetime he wouldn't have after this. His wrist was heavy with agony. Spasms twisted his fingers into claws.

Stiles forced a grin past his teeth because this would end Thera as surely as it would end him. She didn't remember how dying felt, barely recognized Stiles' agony as pain because apparently fae felt that differently too. Stiles promised to share both experiences with her in full. The pain was fading into numbness though. Thera recognized that. There was a sound beyond the steady beating of the shower and the throb of his wrist. It echoed through the restroom on the other side of a haze. Stiles screamed something at Thera or at death; he couldn't tell anymore. There were black spots in his vision. He thought they should have been more comforting as a sign of his blood loss. Instead, he kept trying to see past them or around them because he didn't want to die. His arms were too heavy to move.

He wondered how he could have forgotten that he wanted to live.

Something changed, like a gear beginning to turn inside him. The numbness leached away from Thera to settle more heavily on Stiles. She began to reassert control. Maybe it was too late and he was too far gone to heal.

Beyond the rug, the door crashed inward. Derek charged in behind it, and Stiles' father was behind him. He was speaking, asking Derek something with anger written over his face, but he froze when he saw Stiles. There was fear in his eyes. His hands trembled, and his mouth went slack.

Derek went straight for Stiles' wrist. He grabbed a towel from the rack by the shower and wrapped it around the wound. Stiles watched it turn red and laughed. He saw tears in Derek's eyes. They did not reach his cheeks. Stiles laughed at that too. The bathroom swam around him, and Stiles couldn't decide if he wanted Thera to heal him if it meant she lived too. Derek and Stiles' dad said things to him as Stiles pulled his arm from Derek, struggling to just die already. He needed to kill Thera. She would hurt more than just Stiles if he let her free again.

"Don't worry, boys," Thera said, and Stiles mouth suddenly tasted like perfume and bile. "I won't let this kill him."

She knit Stiles wrist back together. Stiles screamed again with the pain. He trashed, and his head smashed against the wall. He clawed at his wrist because nothing could hurt worse than this, and Thera pulled his fingers away so the flesh could knit itself. Derek and Stilinski stared in horror. Stiles wished they would go away. He wished Thera would go away, and she made it hurt worse to punish him.

Then it stopped. Stiles lay panting and sobbing in the bloody tub. The towel was sticky now where it brushed against his skin. It had fallen into his lap when he wrenched it from his healing wrist. His arm lay over it instead of inside it. Thera had left a messy scar on the skin when she healed it. She made him stare at it and whispered against his mind that it would remind him not to bother anymore. Someone said his name, and Stiles screamed at them to get out.

**~.x.~**

Stiles had cleaned himself of blood, and gotten most of it from the tub in the process. There were still bloody footprints and handprints from where he'd chased his father and Derek from the room. He thought it was shock that kept them from fighting him. Then Thera ordered him to his room to dress himself in the outfit she'd already laid out on the bed. Derek was there when he opened the door. There was still blood on his jacket.

"I can smell the difference now," he said, staring into Stiles' eyes. Everyone looked at his eyes now, when they had the chance. "It's cleaner and sharper from Thera. More grounded and earthy from you." he stepped forward. "Stiles, I—"

Thera wrenched control from Stiles, and Derek startled back. "Get out Derek. I told you to leave me alone today." She wasn't tired of Derek, not exactly, but Daemyn had finally agreed to spend the day with her. Thera still believed she loved her son, and Stiles laughed at that as she let him slip back into his skin.

Derek hadn't moved, but Stiles set about dressing himself. Already, Thera had taught him to have no shame. She showed off his body enough that there was no point in hiding it himself. Even though he'd seen Stiles naked more than anyone else in the days since Thera took over, even though he'd seen him in the tub wearing only blood not long ago, Derek averted his eyes.

This close to the alpha, the pack bond was stronger. Stiles felt it even past Thera's block. They were strong and resolute. Support for Stiles surged from Derek in phantom waves. It came in all the flavors of his pack, and Stiles smiled bitterly as he slid into the shirt Thera wanted to wear. He thought it was too tight, but she liked the way it showed him off. It hadn't popped a button yet at least. When he caught the way Derek's eyes lingered on his torso, Stiles admitted Thera might have a point. But then Derek's eyes always lingered when he knew Stiles had control.

Thera didn't bother commenting on his thoughts. She was busy with her own, and Stiles couldn't quite catch them.

"Stiles, your father..." His voice was jagged.

"What about him?"

"He..." Derek swallowed. "He collapsed, Stiles. I never thought I'd see him broken or crying. I don't know how much more he can take." Stiles froze, trying to force his thoughts past this. _His dad was breaking._ He shuddered. There was something he should say or do, but he couldn't, not without breaking down or ramming another blade through his wrist.

"How much more can _you_ take?" He asked instead because even if it hurt, it hurt less than his dad. Stiles saw how worn down Derek was. Every action followed a hesitation. His skin was as ashen as his family's ruined home. Even the pack sense, with all its strength, carried his weakness out. Stiles felt it seep into him and wished he could cure it instead of feed it.

"We'll find a way soon."

Thera doubted that very much. Stiles did too.

Derek approached as Stiles tied his shoes. He knelt in front of him and reached a hand to cup Stiles' face. He leaned in and kissed him quickly and softly. Then he pulled back before Thera could ruin the kiss and stood. After he passed through the window, Stiles let the hot tears slide down his cheeks to his jaw before dripping onto the shirt Thera made him wear.

**~.x.~**

Daemyn fidgeted in the fancy shirt and vest the girls chose for him. Allison kept combing his hair this way and that like she couldn't decide which was better even though Daemyn knew it all looked roughly the same. Finally, Lydia proclaimed a winner and freed Daemyn from the comb hitting his scalp. Allison smiled triumphantly at him, and Daemyn wished suddenly that he were taller. Though by the way Stiles had acted around Lydia and Allison, height wouldn't make him any braver.

"There, you look fantastic." Allison smiled so well it looked genuine, but Daemyn knew she only meant it to comfort him. No one could smile honestly after the panic Derek had sent through the pack bond earlier.

"It's not a date, you know. They're my parents."

"Yes, but you should always look your best going into battle," Lydia said with a sly smile. Daemyn believed that one because it was mean.

Jackson groaned from where he lounged on Allison's bed with one arm thrown over his eyes. "Yes, he's gorgeous, can we go now?"

Lydia gave him a look that he missed, but Jackson still rolled to face the other direction.

"What if I can't find anything?" Daemyn asked, picking at imaginary lint on his pant leg.

"Then you'll have spent a nice day with your parents." Allison smiled again, and Daemyn decided she tried too hard to be nice.

"What if she catches me?"

"Say you wanted to spend time with both parents and were reaching for Stiles." Lydia pressed a finger against his chest. "And remember she won't hurt you. She's your mother. Stiles is your father. You'll be safe."

Daemyn pushed her away and avoided looking them in the eyes. He knew his mother better than they did, but he would try for Stiles' sake. With a long, steadying breath, Daemyn stood. "I'm ready," he said even though he wished he could hide away and never live the rest of this day.

**~.x.~**

Derek and Stilinski sat together in the matched armchairs of the living room. One should have been consulting with Deaton and the other interviewing witnesses to a robbery. They stared, both unspeaking, at the pattern of the carpet. Derek knew Stilinski's pain was greater than his, but he stayed anyway because he wanted to and because Stilinski let him.

"They're gone," Derek said when Stiles' scent disappeared. As time went by, Thera's power grew. She had begun teleporting again, and Derek worried with each day that their chances of saving Stiles grew slimmer.

Stilinski's weight fell against the chair back. He ran a hand over his face, and Derek wondered how he managed to survive when he went to work with the whole town thinking his son was still himself, that he stayed home because of the flu, not death or possession. This weakness in him only showed when he was alone with Derek, when he knew no one else could see. It settled over him like spreading ink seeping into the paper of his skin. Stilinski closed his eyes, and Derek listened to the coarseness of his breathing as air rattled past his tongue and into his lungs. When Stilinski's eyes opened again, they were hard with pain and guilt.

"We shouldn't agree to send Daemyn into this," he said even though he wouldn't try to stop it.

"It was his idea." Derek pressed the palm of his hand to the fabric of the armchair and felt its texture against his skin. "And we couldn't have stopped him."

"We might." Then, after a beat, "We should have tried."

"I know." Daemyn would be in danger, Thera's son or not. They wanted Stiles back too much to argue when he offered. "We won't."

Stilinski nodded slowly. "Not after..." He shook his head. "Not before either, but especially not after today. We have to save my son." He looked Derek in the eyes at the end, like he believed Derek had some power he didn't that could save Stiles. Derek wasn't used to anyone believing in him. It made him shift in his seat and turn his eyes to the back of his hand.

"We will," he said at last. He ran his tongue over his lips and darted his eyes at Stilinski then away, not sure he should say more. "Or we'll finish what he started," he said at last, and his voice ran through his throat like sandpaper.

"I don't think you could."

"Neither could you, but we're not the only ones in this pack." Peter would do it. He kept claiming to like Stiles, and the words rang true enough even with the pack sense, but he would kill him if he had to, just like he had killed Laura. Derek growled softly and hoped Stilinski wouldn't notice. Peter would kill Stiles even if the rest of the pack hated him for it, so long as he believed there was no other way.

Derek couldn't think of anything else to say. Silence settled over them as they waited for word from Daemyn.

**~.x.~**

Stiles looked happy and open, but his eyes were blue. His hands were in the pockets of a new pair of pants, but one rose in greeting as Daemyn approached. Daemyn forced a smile and felt it sit off-kilter on his face.

"Hello, Mother," he said.

The grin on Stiles' face spread just before Thera pulled Daemyn into a hug. She pulled back and held him at arms' length, beaming at him out of Stiles' face like nothing was wrong about it. "How have you been?" She asked, and Daemyn noticed she still wasn't used to Stiles' voice. It rolled away from her differently, and the smoothness she always used with Daemyn caught a snag and tore into the forced gentleness Daemyn had learned people used in sympathy when they didn't really care.

He shrugged. Thera would get to what she wanted to say soon enough if he ignored the false pleasantries.

"You've been avoiding me," she said. Daemyn thought she meant it for scolding, but in Stiles voice it sounded more like a complaint. "I'm impressed you can manage it given the size of the house we share, but I still miss you, Son." Daemyn hated her for the concern she painted on Stiles' face. She had mastered his expressions well enough, if not his voice.

"You killed my father."

"He's right here with us, sweetie."

"Twice. So far."

Thera paused. Daemyn felt her weighing him, and by the time she schooled away the coldness in her eyes, he knew she'd decided someone else told him, not that he'd known on his own that she wanted Stiles gone for good. Daemyn wanted to scream that he wasn't the fool she'd made of him, but he'd come too close already. He needed Thera's guard down, so he needed to play the foolish, malleable boy she'd raised him to be. There was a time when Daemyn had loved his mother. He beat back the heartbreak of that memory.

"Sorry," he said into the silence Thera left for him. "I just... can I see him too?"

"Of course you can." Anger flashed through her eyes though. She wanted Daemyn to only care about her, but since she'd decided he was stupid, she would let it pass that he didn't. Daemyn smiled just a little past the horror of facing off against his mother. They were supposed to be family, not enemies.

"What did you want to do today?" Daemyn took Stiles' hand the way he used to take his mother's hand when he was young and wanted her to lead him somewhere.

"I was hoping we could talk. I've missed you." She smiled past the roughness of her voice and squeezed Daemyn's hand. "Have you tried ice cream yet?"

Daemyn wondered if she remembered he was thirteen, not seven. He shook his head though. "Not yet."

"Then I think we should talk over ice cream." Thera smiled widely, and Daemyn wondered if her smiles had ever reached her eyes. He hadn't known they were supposed to until they came here where he saw real smiles in person for the first time.

Daemyn nodded with his own smile. It didn't reach his eyes either.

Thera teleported them outside an ice cream shop. Daemyn caught his breath. He hadn't realized Thera was strong enough for something like that. Fear raced through him. She would notice his spellwork. With her powers back, she could destroy Daemyn with a thought. Then again, he suspected she had stayed in Beacon Hills to rest up and regain her power where the pack would protect her thinking they were protecting Stiles. If she hadn't left, maybe it meant she only had part of her power back.

With another smile, Thera pulled Daemyn in. They ordered sundaes, and Daemyn wondered why ice cream had to be quite so rich.

"You need to be more careful," Thera said. "Your eyes are fading."

Daemyn looked to the floor. He should not be embarrassed, but he still thought of it as a sort of weakness. His power faded with the blueness of his eyes. They were cool grey now, and already he doubted he could work the spells to save his father. Eventually, he thought his eyes might turn to brown, and Daemyn wondered if he'd have any power left by then.

He shook himself and shoved a bit of ice cream into his mouth to buy time. The cold hurt his teeth but melted against his tongue. Once he swallowed he said, "There's not much I can do about that."

"You could spend more time with the only fae you know."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Don't sound so petulant. It's unflattering."

Daemyn caught himself before he rolled his eyes and instead tucked his head down and took another spoonful of ice cream. It wasn't so bad without whipped cream in the bite, and he liked the crunch of nuts beside the softness of ice cream.

"What have you been learning with your new friends?" Thera asked. "Don't give me that look, Daemyn. I'm talking about human entertainment, not spying."

"They have books?" Little of their time was about fun. The pack liked to joke and kept talking about things everyone thought were funny, but Daemyn never got the references. Otherwise everything was research or sending Daemyn home. "Grandpa watches bad TV," he said. "The people on it are dumb."

"Humans are easily entertained. They enjoy stupidity."

Even though he'd only been here a short time, Daemyn knew humans enjoyed drama, not stupidity. They loved to watch other people deal with something wrong in the world. At first Daemyn thought they were sadists, but now he thought it helped them feel less alone. Thera would never understand that.

After a steadying breath and another mouthful of oversweet dessert, Daemyn reached his senses forward. Daemyn's mother had always been built solely of power. Now she was built of Stiles' life. It burned in her and festered. It sustained her, even as it had killed her. All the magic in them was Thera's though. Stiles' had been drained out. Daemyn thought the stolen magic had already wasted from him. Would it return if he became more strongly fae again?

Thera said something about Daemyn's idea to start school when fall came around, and he shrugged, digging for the places between Thera and Stiles. If he knew their shape, maybe he could work against them. He found them while Thera explained the worthlessness of human schooling. The edges were jagged, like they'd been hacked at and shoved together until the snares of each soul caught on the other. Breaking them apart would be as messy as putting them together. Each hold contradicted another, and there was no way to maneuver them so nothing would tear. Daemyn shuddered at what he saw. He thought the takeover or melding or whatever Thera intended had been stopped short when John removed the garnet, resulting in the mess inside of Stiles body now.

Ripping them apart and hoping the ruin could be stopped before it killed Stiles again was the only way.

"Are you satisfied yet?" Thera asked, pushing Daemyn out and blocking his sight.

"I just wanted to see father too," he said, falling back on the story the girls gave him. "You said I could."

Thera laughed, and Daemyn knew she didn't believe him. "Of course you can."

Stiles' eyes changed to brown. "She doesn't believe you found anything you can use. That's why she didn't hurt you."

"I didn't hurt him because he's my son," Thera insisted, but then she gave control back to Stiles.

"You need to get Scott to play video games with you. It's very important," Stiles said, gesturing with his spoon.

"Why?" Maybe it was some sort of code.

"Because they're fun, and obviously he's been slacking if all you know about fun is books exist and my dad watches reality TV when he doesn't have to go to work." No, Stiles was completely serious about this. "And the internet. Have someone teach you the internet. Someone other than Derek or Peter."

Daemyn nodded, but he looked at Stiles like he was crazy. Stiles grinned like he was crazy and then shoveled ice cream into his mouth.

"Why don't you show me them?" Daemyn asked when he was tired of watching Stiles eat.

"You're avoiding me, remember?"

"No, I'm not. I'm only avoiding—"

"Your mom. I know. But she lives in here." He beat a hand against his chest. "It's great fun, I assure you." Stiles rolled his eyes and crammed the last of his/Thera's ice cream into his mouth.

Daemyn shoved the melting mush of his own sundae around with his spoon. "This wasn't what I wanted," he said. "I wanted a family, but not this."

"We know," Stiles said, and seeing genuine compassion on his face made Daemyn realize how false Thera's had actually looked. "Neither of us wanted this either." His eyes flashed into grey and back to brown without making it to blue. "I guess we shouldn't have tried so hard to kill each other." He laughed bitterly and stole Daemyn's ice cream.

"You're not that great at being a parent." Daemyn raised an eyebrow as Stiles ate his sundae.

Stiles shrugged. "Neither was she." He froze for a moment, spoon in hand, eyes flashing. Daemyn thought Stiles and Thera might have been talking. "But I'm seventeen, dude. What do you expect?"

"I don't think you should call your offspring 'dude.'"

"Do you prefer dudebro?"

Daemyn chuckled. "Anything but dudebro." He furrowed his eyebrows and mock-frowned. "Well, not _anything."_

A grin spread slowly over Stiles' face. "Son," he said, and his eyes turned grey. "You don't have to worry. We won't let anything happen to you."

Stiles eyes stayed grey for a long moment after that. They were a more neutral grey than the one Daemyn saw in the mirror that morning. The moment ended when Thera took control and asked him what he wanted to do next. Daemyn couldn't tell which of them had spoken from behind grey eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: attempted suicide by wrist cutting  
> Section Summary: Stiles’ mind is trapped by Thera, barely able to sense the pack bond, much less anything else. She pulls him out when she gets bored and has him shower for her because hygiene is annoying. When her attention wanders to the broken necklace, Stiles attempts to kill himself in order to kill her. Derek and the sheriff rush in and try to save Stiles. Thera regains control and heals Stiles, leaving a scar intentionally as a reminder to Stiles. Stiles screams at his dad and Derek to get out. /~.x.~


	24. Fistfuls of Ash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been updating slowly to avoid this, but I’ve finally reached the limit of what I’ve gotten back from my betas so far. Up to this point I’ve been able to say, “Well, it’s been a little while, I had best update before it stretches out too long,” but I won’t have that option any more. There is literally no time frame on hearing from my betas because they have lives outside my fanfiction. The ending IS written, so it’s not like it’s never. Please stick with me even though it could be a while. There are 27 total chapters, so we’re nearing the end! (In the mean time I’m working on the Watchtower ‘verse and my original novel.)

Derek scowled and paced. The train station smelled like the pack more than it smelled like age and ruin. They had been here a long time. If Chris Argent hadn’t agreed that a fae, a necromancer, and a group of unicorns were more trouble than a bunch of shape-shifting teenagers, Derek would have moved by now. Staying in one place for so long itched, but he didn’t want Chris to know his new hideout. He would wait. When Thera was taken care of, John was no longer a threat, and the unicorns had moved on for certain, he would move. Until then, he tried to ignore the smell of _Argent_ in his den.

                “I’m not asking if Stiles wants it,” Peter said with a smirk that made Derek want to punch him. “I’m asking if it would drive Thera out.”

                “I don’t know.” Deaton had almost refused to leave the safety of his office, especially once he knew Peter would be there. Derek admitted that combat wasn’t one of his strengths, but he’d reminded Deaton that Scott and Isaac would be there. They were his allies more than they were Derek’s. It had been enough. “In some cases the bite overrides other curses, but not all, or not completely, as we saw with Jackson.”

                Jackson flinched. Not visibly, he would never give that much away to the world, but Derek felt him pull back from mention of the kanima. Some of the others reacted too, and Derek gathered the sympathetic ones and sent them to Jackson. Jackson, of course, refused them, but Derek thought he had liked having the option anyway.

                “Some cases?” Chris asked from where he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and face stern enough that Derek suspected he kept thinking about rabid dogs.

                “Some magic can refuse the bite. Lydia, for example, is immune. The other example would result in death.” His face was suitably grim, but Derek couldn’t believe it would kill Stiles. He was strong. He deserved the gift of the bite, and he could handle it.

                “Has a faerie ever been bitten?” Allison asked. She was beside her father, consciously or unconsciously mimicking his pose. The difference was Derek could feel her as part of the pack. She was worried, and she wanted to help, and every time she looked at Derek, she filled with rage enough that it lashed out at him even though Allison let little else out. It was the same way he felt when he thought about her aunt. Allison looked enough like Kate that Derek knew she got the same flashes of hatred from him that he did from her. Maybe that made them even.

                “Full-blooded fae are immune. Half-bloods vary by individual and by the strength of fae in their blood.” Deaton spread his hands. “There is no way to tell.”

                Derek thought of Daemyn at the mention of half-fae. He wasn’t there, neither were Stiles nor his father. They had hesitated to invite Scott in case he went to Stiles too soon with this, but his presence helped ease Deaton’s worries.

                “So what you’re saying is we know nothing.” Peter sighed. His actions were patronizing and mocking, but Derek felt the anger beneath them. He did not share it, so the others were surprised when Peter’s eyes flashed.

                “The bite isn’t the answer,” Chris said, pushing off the wall. “We want to remove his curse, not replace it with another one.”

                Derek didn’t bother to tell him the bite was a gift. Argents never listened.

                “How do you suggest we do that?” Isaac asked, bitterness heavy on his voice. Derek wondered if it had something to do with his own father. Isaac never felt this way around anyone else’s parents though.

                “I’m the man who kills monsters, remember?” His eyes were hard, but not as hard as when he looked at Derek or Peter. “I don’t have the answer to save him.”

                “You’re not killing Stiles!” Scott shouted, and Derek chose not to remind him that they might have to. No one else knew that Stiles had already tried.

                “Scott,” Derek warned as Scott began shifting. He had already found Scott reacted badly to dominance, so he borrowed some self-control from Boyd and Allison to share with Scott.

                They all felt what he was doing. They all knew how clumsy he still was at it, and by now they knew they weren’t actually supposed to feel it consciously most of the time. Allison sent Derek a hate-laced glare that he probably deserved. The shared emotion was still enough to calm Scott down, probably because he recognized part of it as Allison’s. Derek scowled and tried not to send his anger out to the rest of the pack. He knew there had to be something they could do, and he sent that out instead of the frustration of not finding it.

                A few of them at least appreciated the attempt. Jackson practically laughed at him, and Peter sent along a patronizing congratulations while he laughed aloud. Derek reminded himself Peter had never mastered this either since he’d never built a pack at all. If Derek had _known_ about this, then he could have prepared better, but it was an alpha secret. Even Peter only knew because Peter always knew things he shouldn’t. There was supposed to be training for this, so the alpha could hold the pack together without _invading_ them the way Derek kept doing.

                “So we still haven’t made it out of square one,” Lydia said. “And Daemyn couldn’t find anything useful either.” She shook her head with a sigh. “He said our best chance was to rip her out and hope he doesn’t die. Are we capable of that?”

                “Maybe with a modified exorcism spell,” Deaton said, obviously trying to think of one. “But I don’t think much of Stiles’ chances of survival.”

                “Get the spell together just in case,” Derek said. “And we need to research ways to protect Stiles from the exorcism. Or whatever else we do.” Unless they killed him. No protecting Stiles from that. “Anything else?” He looked around the room. It was late. He needed to get back to the Stilinskis’ place before Thera got too suspicious. She liked Derek at the house by ten each night.

                No one said anything.

                “Get on with your date,” Peter said with too big a smile.

                “It’s not a date.” Everyone knew he stayed with Stiles at night now. They also knew Thera hadn’t given him much choice in the matter. Stiles still had a scar on his thigh where Thera proved her threats to harm him weren’t empty.

                “And yet it’s still creepy,” Jackson said. He smirked at Derek.

                “Stop being a tool, Jackson.” Isaac punched Jackson’s shoulder.

                Derek nodded his thanks and left. The others could leave in their own time.

 

**~.x.~**

Scott left shortly after Derek, but Allison asked the others to stay once he was out of hearing range. She steeled herself. The others would hate the idea, but it needed to be said. They would think she was cold and heartless, but she had a responsibility to protect as many people as possible, even if it meant sacrificing Stiles.

                “There is a chance we won’t be able to help Stiles.” The room became silent. By their eyes, Allison knew the others could tell what she meant. “Thera is a danger though, and Stiles has told me himself he wants us to kill her _at all costs.”_

                “I already spoke to Derek, and he already spoke to Stiles’ father,” Peter waved a hand dismissively. “If it comes to that, I’ll handle it.”

                Even without Derek to channel it, Allison felt the shock in the room. The air hardened with it, holding them in the moment after Peter spoke. He laughed at them, but it was a darker sound than his mockery.

                “He doesn’t think you all could do it,” Peter said.

                Allison grabbed her father by his sleeve and pulled him out. She had her answer, her backup plan. She didn’t like that it was Peter, but part of her was relieved. She’d thought it would be her.

                In the car, her dad kept glancing over to her. “You were strong,” he said. He understood how hard it was to be around werewolves after how her mother died.

                “I faked strong.”

                “That’s all strength is sometimes.” He took one hand from the wheel to set on her shoulder. “They believe you.”

                “Derek doesn’t.” Allison shook her head. “He’s some sort of empath now, remember?”

                “Yeah, it took him long enough.” Mocking Derek took some of the edge from his eyes, but then he became more serious. “It’s not all bad. He knows you’ll never forget because he can feel it.”

                “There’s feedback sometimes.” Allison concentrated on the memory. She had felt her hatred echo back, but it wasn’t hers. It belonged to Derek, and if Allison had to guess, she’d say it was directed at her Aunt Kate. He had lost people too. “He’s felt the same thing.” Sometimes remembering that made hating him harder. Remembering that he’d only been protecting Scott made it harder still.

                But he didn’t have to bite her mom.

                Allison wrapped her arms around herself even though it wasn’t cold in the car. She concentrated on the pack bond and imagined it obscured by dense fog. She had accepted for Stiles’ sake and because the initial burst sent through the bond felt more than anything else like _protecting people._ Maybe if Allison had considered it longer, she’d have turned it down to keep Derek from shuffling through her feelings whenever he pleased. She was learning how to block him out though. The background chatter in her head faded as her ‘fog’ blocked it out. Allison was getting better at this, and she thought she might be able to turn it on and off at will eventually.

                She could just sever the bond, refuse it as she hadn’t refused it to begin with. But she still thought it might help them reach Stiles, and some of the people linked through Derek were her best friends. Her only friends, if she was honest with herself. Secret lives made it hard to connect with people outside of their circle. Allison watched the lights through the car window and hoped she’d made the right choices this time.

 

**~.x.~**

Thera liked to time things so Stiles would be getting dressed when Derek arrived. Stiles thought her jabs were repetitive, unoriginal, and poorly thought out, but she didn’t care what he thought. So Stiles found himself patting water off his legs while Derek sat on the bed trying not to watch. Such fun.

                Derek was already in loose pants and an undershirt. Thera kept hinting that he should sleep naked, but he ignored her. Stiles was thankful. He didn’t think he could handle naked-Derek time with his built-in brain audience. It was bad enough Thera made them sleep in the same bed every night. Stiles changed into his PJ’s too and climbed in with Derek. They only fit in the bed together with their bodies flush. With the heat of Derek’s body, Stiles hardly even needed sheets anymore. He kicked them to the foot of the bed and snuggled his face against Derek’s shoulder. He hated how nice it felt because it was Thera’s fault. Derek set a hand on the small of Stiles’ back and kissed the top of his head. They slept easily together. Thera always appreciated a good night’s sleep.

                Stiles woke alone. Not alone-alone—Derek’s arms were still around him, and one of his legs had fit between Stiles’ as they slept—but alone in that Thera was still asleep. This had happened before, but not often. He slid his fingers against Derek’s face until he woke, then he pressed a finger to his lips.

                “She’s asleep,” he whispered.

                Derek nodded. He blinked slowly with sleep still in his eyes. Stiles might have caught him off guard when he pulled Derek in for a kiss. He stiffened at first, probably out of habit at this point because Thera shadowed every word and every touch with Stiles. Then he melted into Stiles touch and kissed him back.

                Part of Stiles was shocked Derek hadn’t left him. They couldn’t be together like this, not really, so they should have broken it off. If they had, Thera wouldn’t be able to use Stiles against Derek as much as she did. But he kissed Stiles and ran his hands along his back and down past his butt to draw one of Stiles’ legs around him. He said they weren’t in love, but if he didn’t love Stiles, why stick around?

                He was thinking too hard. Stiles told his brain to shut up and focused instead on Derek. His body was hot and his lips desperate, but Stiles felt Derek holding himself back still. “I want you,” Stiles whispered against him. He didn’t know how much he wanted or how much he could take, just that he wanted Derek.

                Derek grunted in response, and pulled Stiles closer. It wasn’t enough.

                Stiles pushed Derek to lie on his back, and Derek let him. He straddled Derek, still kissing him with all the desperation of a prisoner finally unguarded. He trailed kisses to Derek’s neck and began sucking there. His hands trailed the length of Derek’s torso to his hips and slid under the hem of his undershirt to lift it off.

                “Stiles,” Derek’s hands caught his even though it was just a shirt. He probably knew Stiles didn’t mean to stop there. “We’re only kissing.”

                “Come on,” Stiles whined, rubbing up against Derek. “I’m old enough to be possessed by an evil faerie. I think I’m old enough for sex.”

                Derek shook his head. “It’s not about your age.”

                “Thera’s asleep. She won’t see anything.”

                “It’s not about her.”

                “What then?” Stiles asked before he remembered. “Kate. Sorry.” He pulled back and stared down at the blankets. “I wish there was something I could do.”

                “You don’t... It’s not...” Derek trailed off, scowling at the space between himself and Stiles. “It’s just not the right time.”

                “We may never have another time.” Stiles pulled off Derek though. “I don’t want to die only ever having been with _her.”_ He sneered at the thought of her.

                “I get that.”

                “Well, I don’t get you.” Derek was a young guy too. He had to be just as horny as Stiles. “Is it because you don’t want me? Are you just too nice to say it because honestly ‘nice’ doesn’t suit you. ‘Angry’ and ‘too awkward to explain your feelings properly’ fit better though.”

                “I want you.” The heat in Derek’s voice burned through Stiles. He shivered in its wake and jumped on Derek again.

                “Say it again,” he said.

                “I want you.” He melted at Stiles’ touch, but pushed him away again a moment later. “But not now.”

                Stiles rolled his eyes and pointed at Derek’s crotch. “I beg to differ.”

                “I said I want you, didn’t I?”

                Stiles nodded, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Derek snorted, so maybe the eyebrow thing didn’t work quite right.

                “Look, you’re gonna say you said you wanted to wait. And I’ll say I said we don’t have time to wait. And you’ll be like, no, Stiles, I’m having a moral and emotional dilemma. And I’ll be like, hey, you know what helps with those? Letting me blow you until you feel better. And then you’ll just start over again because you don’t get how arguments work.” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest. “So let’s skip the loop.”

                “We’ll make time for you.”

                “No, you’ll probably have to kill me in the end. That’s if the bite doesn’t kill me, and yeah, I know you’ve all been discussing it.”

                “Stiles—”

                “No. I don’t want you to feel bad for me. I want you to make what time I have left feel good.” He leaned over Derek and let his lust seep into him. He hadn’t known he could do that, but once he knew, Stiles took control of it. He shared with Derek how desperately he wanted this and made him understand.

                “Stiles, what are you doing?” Derek pushed away at Stiles again, but Stiles swatted his hands back with a wave of his own.

                “I’ll go first then,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head. Then he slid his hands back around Derek and pulled his shirt up. He had trouble at first because Derek’s hands were spread out above his head and he didn’t bring them in, but Stiles used Thera’s magic to pull them close enough to slide the shirt off. “See, that wasn’t so bad.”

                He leaned forward and resumed kissing Derek, but Derek didn’t kiss back this time even though he knew exactly how desperately Stiles needed him. He growled, and Stiles licked his fangs as they grew out. Derek didn’t seem to like that either.

                “If you’re so angry, why don’t you just—” He’d been about to say ‘leave,’ but his eyes landed again on Derek’s arms, spread out so his hands lay on opposite corners of the mattress. Muscles along his arms strained as Derek struggled to move them. They were bound. Stiles could see the spell now. He blinked, and it faded, but he had already seen.

                Stiles stumbled away from Derek and fell off the edge of the bed. After he hit the floor, Stiles scrambled back further until he hit the wall. Derek’s legs moved, but not his arms, no matter how much he twisted. Stiles lifted a hand and dismissed the spell he’d placed on Derek’s wrists. Derek shot off the bed, wolfed-out and growling.

                Stiles tried to say he was sorry, but all the came out was a scream. He clutched his head in his hands, and Thera woke up in time to tell him he could make Derek forget this if he wanted and go back to kissing him. She yawned in his mind and let him cry instead. Derek left when Stiles’ father and Daemyn arrived. They put their arms around him and said it was okay, but it wasn’t. Stiles had almost raped Derek exactly the way Thera raped him. He screamed again to drown out her laughter in his head.

 

**~.x.~**

Derek ran, but he couldn’t get away. Stiles’ scent coated his body. Trees raced past the edges of his vision. Shadows clung to the woods, but Derek saw clearly. He had never been blinded by night the way humans were. The wind of his passing pulled at his hair and clothes. It roared in his ears beside the beat of his heart and the gasp of his breath.

                The woods changed with a crash. One moment he ran over dirt and green, and the next Derek fell to his knees in ash. He gripped it in his fists and held back the growl in his throat. Stiles had done this—razed the forest to the ground. He’d let himself lose control to the power and destroyed everything around him. The same thing he’d almost done tonight. Derek tried to cling to that ‘almost,’ but it felt flimsy and weak.

                Everyone kept saying Stiles was strong, that he endured Thera’s control like some kind of hero. But they were wrong. Stiles was weak. Stiles was power hungry and desperate, and Thera gave him everything he needed to ruin everything around him. It had only been a short while since Derek insisted he wasn’t in love, but his heart felt broken enough now. He shuddered at the ghosts of Kate licking his abdomen and Stiles licking his teeth.


	25. One Blue, One Brown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have all the feedback from my betas back now! I probably should have waited for another once-over of this chapter tomorrow before posting, but I’m too excited and want to get it up. :D Please forgive me the typos I’ve missed in my impatience.

The pack fell away. Even without Derek around, there had always been a sense of their presence in the back of Cassie’s mind since she accepted the bond. It wasn’t so much feeling what they did as it was knowing they were alive and unharmed, unless Derek was trying to be super alpha and sending emotions around again. Now there was nothing. Cassie knew he had finally cut her off. She wasn’t really pack. She was a spider. She had killed Jenneva Cole, and before that she had... Cassie shuddered. The pack hadn’t hunted her just because she was a spider. They hunted her because she hurt people. She didn’t deserve to be one of them.

                Cassie shook herself before her thoughts spiraled even further. She was past this. No she wasn’t, but she was working on it. She had to accept what she was and that it didn’t change _who_ she was. That meant believing she was part of the pack, and that she deserved to be part of the pack. And _that_ meant something was wrong.

She dialed Erica. “I can’t feel—” she began as soon as Erica answered only to be cut off.

“Me neither. Meet us at Derek’s.” Erica hung up, and Cassie began running for the train station.

                She found Erica and Isaac there ahead of her, and Boyd arrived just behind. “What’s going on?”

                Erica shook her head. “We don’t know. Neither does anyone else.”

                “We can’t find Derek.” Isaac sounded worried. He was closer to Derek than most of the pack.

                “Do you think something happened to him?” Cassie wasn’t sure what happened to the pack without Derek. Maybe Scott took over. Maybe no one took over. Maybe they all realized they were living with an evil faerie monster and left town.

                “Were you guys awake around three this morning?” Boyd asked.

                Isaac was caught off guard. “What?”

                Erica was angry. “Who cares?”

                Cassie wondered how that was relevant just then. “Why?”

                “Something definitely happened between Derek and Stiles. I starting dialing the bond back to keep from feeling something, ah, private, but before I could, there was a flash of anger and disgust and guilt.” He nodded to himself. “Derek shut himself out after that, and now it’s gone altogether.”

                “Why were you awake at three in the morning?” Erica asked.

                Boyd shrugged.

                Isaac clapped a hand on Boyd’s shoulder. “My condolences for what you had to experience.” He nodded seriously. “Could you tell where Derek was when he went missing?”

                Boyd shook his head. “Running in the woods, I think, but I don’t know more than that.”

                “I can track his scent,” Erica said, “Once I get close enough. Isaac, you should see if Stiles knows anything.”

                “I don’t know if you noticed, but Stiles and I don’t exactly get along,” Isaac said. “I mean it’s not as bad as before when I was trying to kill the girl he thought he was in love with, but we never actually made up.”

                “Wow, you are such babies.” Erica rolled her eyes.

                “Then why don’t you talk to him while I look for Derek?”

                “I’m not sure we should ask anyway,” Boyd shifted his weight from one foot to the other, which was as good as fidgeting for him. “Like I said, it seemed private.”

                “They were screwing and had a fight, we get it,” Erica said. “I think if it’s important enough to collapse the bond we formed to save Stiles, then it’s important enough to tell us about.”

                “Maybe we should ask Derek first though,” Isaac said. “And we can search better with more of us there.”

                “Asking Stiles is as likely to be asking Thera anyway,” Boyd added. “More likely.”

                “Speaking of Thera, how were they being ‘private’ with her around?” Erica asked.

                “I don’t want to know.” Isaac nodded emphatically as he spoke. “Let’s just find our moody leader and tell him to stop throwing a fit.”

                Cassie hadn’t spent much time with Derek even though he was supposed to be alpha of her pack and sort of lived in her brain. To be honest, she didn’t want to, and she definitely didn’t look forward to the questioning him about his possessed boyfriend. “I don’t have the nose for tracking,” she said, “But I can take over guarding Stiles for the moment.”

                “We’ll call you when we find him,” Boyd said with a nod.

                “Okay so Boy and I will look for Derek, and Cassie and Erica will watch Stiles,” Isaac said.

                “No,” Erica growled, “I’m looking for Derek.”

                “Like you said, we can search better with more of us there, and I don’t think Stiles needs any more guarding than he did yesterday,” Boyd said.

                “Daemyn’s probably there anyway,” Cassie added, “So I’m already just backup.”

                Erica ignored Cassie and asked Boyd, “You think Derek needs guarding?”

                “Maybe not guarding so much as talking down,” Boyd answered.

                “Down from what?” Cassie asked.

                “Down from the high horse of being The Alpha,” Erica said.

                “Or probably down from freaking out,” Isaac added.

                “He’s not the most stable of leaders in town,” Erica agreed.

                “We’re wasting time,” Boyd pointed out.

                Cassie nodded and turned to go but hesitated. “How are you all so sure he’s just upset? Thera could done something to make him shut down the pack bond, couldn’t she?”

                When none of them answered, Cassie realized they weren’t sure at all. It was just easier to assume Derek was fine. Or pretend to.

                “Stiles is still at home,” Isaac said eventually. “His dad answered when I called. You can meet them there.”

                Cassie climbed the stairs behind the others and watched them run off toward the woods before turning into town toward the Stilinskis’ house. When Stiles’ father let her in, Cassie began explaining what had happened, but he stopped her.

                “Stiles is in bad shape right now. No one hurt him. He just...” He clenched his teeth, and Cassie wondered how bad it was to shake the sheriff. He always seemed so stable, like he could hold the whole pack up if he had to. “Daemyn’s with him.”

                Cassie nodded and settled in a chair to wait. “I can stay down here. I just want to be nearby. Just in case.” She tried to connect Derek running away with Stiles hiding away with what Boyd said he felt from them during the night.

                Stilinski nodded. She saw that he tried to look grateful, but grief and exhaustion won out.

 

**~.x.~**

Stiles had fallen asleep on the floor against the wall while his father and son watched over him. When he woke, Thera was with him again, pushing him back so she could speak to Daemyn. Something had changed in him since what he did to Derek. He thought maybe something had broken. Whatever it was, when Thera pushed him down, instead of falling into a void, he pushed back. She threatened him just as she had for every moment since taking his body, reminding him how she had tortured him and how she had raped him and how she could do it all again. She threatened the people he loved, his father, his friends, and Derek, but Stiles had already hurt Derek. He could see himself weighing on his friends, could see his father buckling under that weight. Thera could threaten all she wanted, but Stiles was already destroying everyone he cared about. They would be better off is she carried through her ultimate threat and killed him. He laughed and told her to do it if she could. Daemyn startled at the sound, and Stiles realized he had laughed aloud, that he was still in his body despite Thera’s threats.

                And she hadn’t killed him.

                That was when Stiles knew she couldn’t.

                Stiles pushed himself up against the wall and looked around his room more to prove to Thera he could than anything else. His eyes landed on the bed. It was the bed Thera raped him on. The bed she forced Derek to share with him every night. The bed he had almost raped Derek on.

                With a roar or a scream or something more broken than either should sound, Stiles grabbed hold of Thera’s power and crushed the bed. He swung the wreckage of it through the room, smashed it against the wall and floor and willed it not to exist anymore. Its frame crushed his desk and shattered his window before Daemyn threw his arms around Stiles and pulled him down until he released the bed in a fit of tears. Stiles had no right to cry.

                Thera said he was being dramatic. Her casual disdain felt forced to Stiles. She mentally pushed him again and held his scarred arm up so he stared at the mark his attempt at suicide had left. Thera focused his eyes on the scar to remind him that he couldn’t fight her. Stiles remembered how slow she’d been to heal him. The same numbness that pulled at Stiles until he realized he didn’t want to die had held her back. Maybe she hadn’t beaten him. Maybe he’d only beaten himself. Stiles surged at her, done with being threatened and controlled. He was done with giving her whatever she wanted and hoping it meant she would keep her word. Stiles was ready to beat her back. He had nothing to lose that she truly meant to let him keep.

                Stiles’ body fell limp as they fought over it. He felt distant muscles tensing and relaxing, but neither he nor Thera spared the attention controlling those muscles would take. He pictured the inside of his mind like the grey void, and he pictured his consciousness as the body he should have controlled and Thera’s as the body she lost when he killed her. None of these were quite right, and he doubted Thera imagined it the same way, but he needed an analogy before his mind could function. He imagined a battle, their fists forced against each other, or blades flashing and crashing together. The images blurred as his mind tried to explain the force of his will beating against Thera’s.

                She was stronger. She always had been. A great wave of power rose behind her like a tsunami ready to sweep Stiles away. Stiles didn’t need to be stronger than Thera, just more determined. He would beat her back, or he would take them both down. The wave washed over him, suffocating him, crushing him. Stiles reminded himself he didn’t need to breath because this wasn’t a body. He couldn’t be hurt here, not really. Thera seethed as her tsunami rolled past, leaving Stiles, panting and soaked in her power. If she could use his body, maybe he could use her magic.

                Stiles imagined a wall stretching between them. It felt clunky and weak. Thera smashed it in and laughed. Stiles reimagined it as a wall of light, as nothing at all but a representation in his mind of separation. He imagined Thera never able to reach him, never able to push him back into darkness and isolation again. He imagined his body being his again. He tried not to imagine what he did the last time his body was his for a moment.

                The water evaporated from Stiles’ body. Or the magic from Stiles’ mental avatar. Thera chuckled and beat against the new barrier, but this one held her back. Her imagined eyes widened in shock before she tried again. And again. And again. She shrieked wordlessly.

                Stiles became aware of Daemyn holding his face and saying his name, trying to wake him. “Stiles,” he said. “Stiles, are you okay? Please answer me, Stiles.” Then in a small voice Stiles barely heard past the noise in his own head, “Dad? Mom?”

                Stiles focused on his body, his real, physical body, and came to with a moan. He pushed himself to sit. Thera clenched Stiles hand into a fist, but Stiles used the other to rub his eyes. She couldn’t force him out now. He grinned.

                “Which one are you?” Daemyn asked.

                “Why?” Thera asked, and Stiles followed with, “What happened?”

                “I can’t tell by your eyes anymore,” Daemyn said. “You’ve got one of each.”

                They stood and walked to the mirror. There were bags under Stiles’ eyes, but no amount of drowsiness could hide that his eyes had turned one to blue and the other brown. Stiles reached a hand out to his reflection. They were both there now, not taking turns as Thera saw fit. He smiled, and she turned it into a sneer. She rammed his fist against the glass, and the shards cut his knuckles.

                “It’s both of us,” Stiles said, studying the cuts on his hand. “She can’t hold me back anymore.”

                “Not yet,” Thera added.

                Stiles laughed because she still believed she could beat him down again. Daemyn backed out of the room calling for his grandfather, and Stiles wondered which of them had scared him more.

 

**~.x.~**

Cassie heard Daemyn shouting and ran with Stilinski to Stiles’ room. They found Stiles standing in front of a broken mirror with blood dripping from his knuckles. Cassie checked his eyes—she always checked his eyes now. They weren’t right. One was blue and the other brown. Something had happened. Something had changed.

                “They say they’re both in charge now,” Daemyn said. “I don’t know which is which.”

                “I’m the one who’s awesome. She’s the one who’s evil.” Stiles shrugged, and Cassie felt the lie in the self-confidence of the first sentence. Cassie was used to that from Stiles.

                “What happened?” his father asked, stepping past Cassie and Daemyn into the room.

                “Stay back, old man,” Stiles hissed, and Cassie thought it was Thera. It wasn’t something Stiles would say to his dad, but there was something else, a feeling in the air that made Cassie’s hair stand on end.

                “I fought back,” Stiles said. The feeling, whatever it was, faded. Cassie wondered if anyone else felt it. Then she remembered Daemyn claiming he couldn’t tell the difference between Thera and Stiles.

                “You were fighting before,” his father started. There was obviously more to come, but Stiles spoke over it.

                “Before I was afraid of all the things I could lose.” Stiles frowned. “I was fighting, but not hard enough.”

                “So are you in control now?” Cassie asked. It didn’t seem like he was. Thera had too much free reign, but Cassie wanted to provoke her into speaking again.

                “He has no power over me.” Thera took the bait. Cassie felt the same unease she had before.

                “No more than she has over me,” Stiles clarified. “We’re on roughly equal footing for the moment.”

                “It won’t last.” Thera believed it. Cassie could tell. But Thera probably also believed she would be in control when the balance shifted. Cassie remembered being under Thera’s control, and the deal that had put her there.

                Maybe that was it. Maybe she felt Thera because of the remains of whatever spell she had used to control Cassie. It didn’t explain why she never noticed before now, but it was a place to start.

                “You should probably have predicted this, Mother,” Daemyn said. He kept his distance though. “You’re the one who always warned me magic is more like a door than a one-way street.”

                Cassie grabbed Daemyn by the hand and dragged him to the kitchen, leaving Stilinski with his son and the fae.

                “What are you doing?” Daemyn asked when she released him. He rubbed his hand like she’d squeezed too hard, and she probably had now that she thought of it. She was used to dealing with werewolves.

                “The point of what you said, it’s that doors open from both sides, right?”

                “Yeah. Why?”

                “She used a spell before to control me. She had to lay down the framework a long time before doing it though. Would it be possible to reach back through it and control her?” Cassie tried not to think of the deal she’d made that let Thera lay that framework in the first place, but Jenneva Cole’s face loomed in her mind’s eye.

                “Probably nothing that strong. But restrain her for a short time, maybe.” Daemyn bit at his lip as his eyes glazed over with thought. “We could use something like that for the exorcism. She’d fight against it, obviously.” He reached a hand forward. “Can I?”

                When Cassie nodded, Daemyn touched his hand to hers. They didn’t merge minds like in Deaton’s office when they removed Scott’s unicorn horn. It felt more like he was reading her. Cassie felt suddenly self-conscious and wondered how much of a person a faerie could read by holding their hand. She felt it when he found the remains of Thera’s spell like a dull ache in her chest. It was the bare bones of a pathway to Thera. Cassie wasn’t sure how she knew, if she had realized it or if the knowledge seeped in from Daemyn while the magic distracted him. As he worked, his eyes brightened, and Cassie realized how much they had dimmed since he came to Beacon Hills. They were a shining warm grey now, but Cassie swore they used to be blue. Finally, he let her go.

                “I think we can do it,” he said. “But I want to see if Deaton has something that will help.”

                Cassie smiled. It was the first time she’d felt they had a real chance to save Stiles. Daemyn smiled back, but only briefly. They would be killing his mother to do it. Cassie took his hand and squeezed it before leading him back to Stiles’ room.

 

**~.x.~**

Derek heard them coming long before they reached him. He lay in the ash, staring at the sky, and let them come. He couldn’t quite smell them here. The fire’s remains overwhelmed his sense of smell.

                “Derek,” Isaac said when they reached him, but he didn’t finish.

                “What are you doing?” Boyd asked.

                “What happened?” Erica nudged him with her foot, so he scowled at her.

                What happened was Derek realized he wasn’t the dangerous one anymore. He should be used to helplessness by now. He frowned at the sky and willed it to fall. His betas surrounded him. Once the four of them had been pack. They had obeyed him, maybe liked him. Then Boyd and Erica ran off to find another pack, and Isaac found Scott. They might have been pack again now, but not like before. They saw the cracks that ran through him. He’d never been a good alpha.

                “If something is wrong, why not come to us?” Isaac sat in the ash by Derek’s shoulder. “We’d help, you know.”

                Derek nodded even though they weren’t close enough anymore to believe they’d care. He couldn’t help but think they would have gone with Scott if he split off. Derek gritted his teeth. And to ask for their help, he would have to tell them the problem.

                “Did Thera do something else?” Erica raised an eyebrow at the ground that made it clear she wouldn’t sit, but she moved closer to him all the same.

                “No.” It wasn’t Thera.

                “Was it Stiles?” Boyd asked. The others looked surprised, and Derek wondered how Boyd could have known.

                “You let more than you meant to slip through while you were distracted,” he answered the confusion that must have shown through Derek’s anger.

                “Is that why you turned it off?” Erica asked. “Because you couldn’t control it?”

                Derek didn’t answer.

                “If this is all because he broke up with you, I’m going to be pissed.” Erica nudged him again with her boot.

                “He didn’t break up with me.”

                “We can’t help if you don’t tell us what’s wrong.” Isaac set a hand on Derek’s shoulder.

                “I didn’t ask you to help.”

                “We’re pack,” Isaac said. “We help each other.”

                Derek sighed and closed his eyes in time to the exhale. He tried to think of a way to tell them without telling them. “It’s the magic,” he said at last, opening his eyes. Bitterness coated his voice. “It has more power over him than Thera does, and it’ll destroy him faster too.”

                “He didn’t burn down another forest, did he?” Erica turned her eyes to the ruined trees around them.

                “No.”

                “Then what did he do?”

                “It’s not important.”

                “Derek.” Erica narrowed her eyes. “Tell us what he did.”

                “He said it’s not important.” Boyd stood. “We know the problem: magic. All we have to do is find a way to block him from it.”

                “We’re wolves, not wizards.” Erica crossed her arms.

                “We know a few people who are basically wizards,” Isaac said, standing and brushing ash from his pants. He offered Derek his hand. “Let’s ask them.”

                Derek took Isaac’s hand and let him pull him to his feet. He didn’t bother brushing ash from himself. There was too much to get it all off. Erica made a show of trying to brush it off him anyway, but that might have been an excuse to slap him. Derek gripped Isaac’s hand and opened himself to the pack again.

 

**~.x.~**

They found Deaton at his clinic. He gave them one of his calculating looks and offered Derek a towel. Derek growled. Deaton raised an eyebrow. Erica rolled her eyes while Isaac sniggered under his breath. Overall, Derek did not feel in control of the situation.

                “We have an idea about Stiles. Or a question,” Isaac said, putting himself between Derek and Deaton.

                “Come on in,” Deaton motioned for them to pass his mountain ash barrier, and the pack entered readily enough.

                “Derek thinks Thera’s magic might be a bigger problem than Thera herself,” Erica said, taking the only chair in the room Deaton led them to.

                “Is there a way to block it off?” Isaac asked.

                “I doubt we have the power for that, especially at the rate she’s gaining strength.” Deaton stood, calmly as ever, with a thoughtful expression on his face. “There are easier ways than barriers, though they are more permanent—”

                “That’s good though,” Isaac cut in.

                “And more dangerous,” Deaton finished.

                “Oh.” Isaac’s expression fell. “You mean it might harm Stiles.”

                “Yes. And that it has before.”

                Derek swung his eyes from Isaac to Deaton, trying not to look as off-balance as he felt. “You mean..?” The spell that originally almost killed Stiles and gave Thera a foothold inside him had been a draining spell, originally intended to remove his magic, just as they wanted to now. Derek gritted his teeth against it. “That almost killed him.”

                Deaton nodded. “I said dangerous, didn’t I?” He fixed Derek with an even stare. “I believe Daemyn would know the difference between magic and life force this time.”

                “The stone was broken,” Derek said. He remembered how dull it had looked on the floor after John cut it and knew it couldn’t work again.

                “But the pathways it built are still there, and we may be able to tap into them.”

                “You didn’t think of that just now,” Derek said. Deaton had it too readily figured out. He’d spent so long telling them to wait until he knew more that Derek doubted he could pull out an answer like this instantly.

                “No, I didn’t.” Calm as ever.

                “You’ve been planning to drain him.”

                Deaton’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his expression remained the same otherwise. “So have you. It’s why you came here.”

                Derek broke eye contact. He couldn’t deny that he wanted the magic gone.

                “I haven’t asked Daemyn yet.” Deaton let it hang, and Derek knew what he wanted.

                “I will.” Derek growled and brought his eyes back to Deaton’s. He was an alpha, and he would not be submissive toward a human.

                Deaton’s expression said he knew exactly what Derek was thinking, and that he thought little of him for it. Derek turned his back and stalked from the clinic. His betas followed, but he thought they glanced back at Deaton. Derek couldn’t say why. They’d known for a long time now how bad an alpha he made.

 

**~.x.~**

“You know it’s creepy for a grown man to ask to meet a teenage girl all alone at night,” Lydia pointed out, pretending to study a stack of papers on Deaton’s desk as she leaned forward playfully.

                “We won’t be alone much longer,” he said.

                Lydia bit lightly at her lip, wondering what it would take to break Deaton’s cool. She studied him openly, and while he looked back at her just as intently, he made it look like an answer rather than like he wanted anything from her. It was an act, Lydia knew. He wouldn’t have asked her here except to ask for her to do something.

                “You always insist you’re just a veterinarian.” She tilted her head as if seeking a new angle to study him. “Is it really that much easier to lie?”

                “Wouldn’t you rather insist you’re just a student?”

                “I _am_ just a student.” Lydia raised an eyebrow.

                “No, you’re not.” He didn’t say more. Maybe that was for the best.

                “Are you going to tell me why I’m here?”

                “Yes.”

                “Well?”

                “When everyone’s here.” He turned his head as the bell on the clinic door sounded. “And there we go.”

                “Finally.” Lydia settled in to see who showed.

                Cassie popped her red head through the door even though she had to know who waited for her. The rest of her followed, dressed in one of the ridiculous leather get-ups Erica had pushed her into. Lydia noted that Cassie had found space for one of the bows she’d been so fond of before becoming a massive ugly spider creature. It fit at the top of a corset beneath her breasts, and Lydia made sure her expression told Cassie just how much it looked like a costume instead of real clothes.

                “Hey,” Cassie said in a quiet little voice like she was afraid of Lydia or Deaton.

                “Hey,” Lydia answered, setting a hand on her hip. She raised an eyebrow when no one else followed. “Is that it?”

                Cassie nodded. Once, she would have stared at Lydia with wide, doe eyes. Now she narrowed them suspiciously and looked Lydia up and down.

                “We don’t have much time,” Deaton said.

                “Well, you’d have saved some by starting sooner.” Lydia crossed her arms.

                Deaton shook his head, drawing three rings from his pocket. “You’ll each wear one of these at all times. The other you’ll wear on a string around your necks, and you’ll trade it off every time you see each other, no matter how long it’s been.”

                “I think you left something out.” Lydia gave Deaton a look to say she wasn’t psychic.

                “You two are going to have to restrain Thera so Daemyn can drain her power.” He said it so matter-of-factly Lydia almost wanted to slap him.

                “What makes you think I can—”

                “We’ve already covered that you’re not just a student.”

                Lydia glared at him.

                “Do you think that will work?” Cassie asked, giving Lydia a sideways glance. “She’s not the same kind of magic-user as Daemyn.”

                Lydia didn’t frown, but the smile she gave wasn’t exactly pretty.

                “Lydia may be better for this than Daemyn, and we need him for something else.” Deaton held out the rings. They were shiny and black. “They go on your left hands,” he said.

                “Okay, so we’re restraining her. How do rings help with that?” Cassie asked. “And how do we use them?”

                “They will create a connection between you two and the person who eventually wears the third ring,” Deaton explained.

                “I’m guessing that’s how we’re supposed to do it without Daemyn,” Lydia said. “But why do we have to wear them early? And why doesn’t Stiles?”

                “Stiles can’t. Thera will realize the ring’s purpose,” Deaton said as though it were perfectly obvious and the girls should have known. “It takes time to form a connection, so we need to make sure the link between you two is strong enough to compensate for how weakly it will reach Thera.”

                “Don’t we already have the pack bond?” Cassie asked.

                “Yes. Usually rings such as these require months or years to prepare. You should need only a few days.” Deaton said it like a good thing, and on their short schedule maybe it was, but Lydia hardly wanted _more_ of a connection to Cassie than she already had.

                Lydia asked, “How will we know when they’re ready?”

                “You’ll know.”

                “That doesn’t answer my question.”

                “You’ll just know.”

                With a toss of her hair, Lydia plucked two rings, one for her hand and the one on a string, from Deaton’s palm and offered a sickly-sweet smile to Cassie. “Then I guess we’ll let you know when we know.” She turned her back on them both and strutted from the room. Lydia wished it didn’t have to be Cassie the werespider, but she would do what she had to in order to save Stiles.

 

**~.x.~**

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows, and Derek knew it was him because he said, “You don’t have to sleep by me anymore.” Then his eyes hardened as he said, “She can’t make you.”

                “Yes I can,” followed it from his mouth, and Thera twisted his features into something vicious.

                Stiles rolled his eyes. “Dude, I can like, halt you mid-evil-spell now.”

                “Don’t kid yourself.”

                “Hey, I am a badass, and we both know it.”

                “You’re overcompensating because you have half a dozen weird complexes.”

                “Says the centuries-old, evil faerie who has to use teenage boys because she can’t deal with grown men.”

                “Is that why you think I chose you?”

                “You didn’t choose me at all. I accidentally freed you, and you literally jumped the first guy you saw.”

                “If you’d been—”

                “Stop,” Derek growled. “Now. Stop. Both of you.” It was too weird watching Stiles argue with himself. His scent didn’t even change anymore; both versions were present, just like both eye colors. Until now, he and Stiles had stolen moments when Thera left him in his body, but Thera wouldn’t or couldn’t leave him now, so Derek wasn’t sure how to handle it. Did he still kiss Stiles, or was that kissing Thera? Did he give them a hug? Did he even stay the night? Would he have done any of that even without the change given what Stiles had almost done?

                “Look, my bed’s done for, so I’ll be on the couch anyway. That’s even less space than we had before.” Stiles shrugged. “Go home and get some real sleep.”

                Derek nodded. He could have found out from his father where Stiles planned to sleep, but he’d wanted an excuse to see him. With his excuses exhausted, Derek left Stiles’ room. He’d have to pass by the couch on his way out, and Stiles stayed in his room for the moment. Stilinski entered the bedroom as Derek left.

                In the hall, Derek shoved his hands in his pockets. The left one fit around the tumbled gemstone Deaton had given him. It wasn’t pretty like the one Thera had used, but Deaton said it was the same kind. Once he reached the living room, Derek slipped it into the pillowcase he found already set out and then let himself out the front door. He wiped his hand against his pants, but it still felt unclean.


	26. Before Death Came

They had been trading the ring for days. Cassie wore it now, but Lydia still imagined she felt it hanging from her neck as she leaned back into the Stilinski’s couch. Stiles slept there now, but he had curled tight on himself during the night, leaving plenty of room for Lydia beyond his bare feet. Her left hand felt heavy. The weight had grown over the days she and Cassie wore the rings Deaton gave them. There was a red line at the back of her neck where the string of Stiles’ ring rubbed against her skin.

                She breathed slowly, psyching herself for whatever it was that happened when she did magic. Even Deaton couldn’t explain to her how to do it and instead said she would know when the time was right, just like she knew now the rings were ready. She glanced at Cassie where she stood in the doorway hesitating and didn’t have to watch the rise and fall of her chest to know she breathed in sync with Lydia. Even their heartbeats would be the same. Lydia forced a breath outside of their pattern, a huff or a sigh, she didn’t care which. Cassie’s breath caught for a moment before they both resumed their synchronized breathing. At least Lydia knew she wasn’t the only one whose heart raced in sheer terror.

                Lydia raised an eyebrow at Cassie to get her moving. Cassie nodded haltingly and moved into the room, pulling the ring away from her neck and breaking the string that held it there. Lydia ran her thumb over her own ring as Cassie found Stiles’ hand and slid the third ring onto his finger. They weren’t ready. The rings were ready, but the girls would never be. Cassie gently lifted Stiles’ head and slipped onto the couch before resting his head in her lap. She looked at Lydia with her large eyes wide and scared.

                Daemyn, Derek, and Peter entered the living room once Cassie was settled but kept their distance. The girls had asked them to keep back in case they failed. They kept Stiles’ father in the doorway behind the supernaturals in case they failed. The ring was warm against Lydia’s finger. It felt foreign, like someone else had warmed it and handed it to her after, but no one had touched the ring. They thought it was Cassie’s warmth and that Cassie’s ring was warmed by Lydia. When Lydia reached forward to take Stiles’ hand, she found his ring was warm too. She squeezed his hand but didn’t know what else to do.

                “I think they have to be awake,” she said at last.

                “Are you sure?” Cassie asked.

                “No.” Lydia hesitated. “But Deaton said I would know what to do, and right now I have no idea.”

                Cassie nodded and ran her fingers through Stiles’ hair. “Stiles,” she said softly, “Wake up, Stiles.”

                He woke slowly, blinking and shifting position. “Cassie?” he said when his eyes focus. Then he turned to look around more. “Lydia? What’s going on?” His voice became sharper when he added, “Who put this ring on me?” He jerked his right hand around to pull at the ring on his left.

                “You have to stop her, Stiles,” Lydia said. “You need to keep the ring on.”

                “Is it time?” he asked, and Lydia wondered how much he knew. She nodded, and Stiles only struggled against the ring more. It held, but Lydia felt that it wouldn’t hold forever.

                Thera pulled her hand from the ring and shot it out with a force that blasted Lydia back. She slammed against a shelf and fell to her knees as books and a picture frame rained down around her. The distance didn’t matter. So long as Stiles wore the ring, they were connected. Lydia could feel it now, feel her breath racing to match his, uneven and desperate. She needed to reach him through Cassie now, not just through the ring. Thera hurled Cassie at the others while Lydia regained her footing. Cassie landed on her feet, hissing as her teeth sharpened into vicious fangs, but the others tensed and started forward.

                “Wait,” Lydia screamed. “Stay back. It’s okay.”

                Peter grabbed hold of Derek and Daemyn when they didn’t stop. Lydia had never expected to be thankful for anything he did. She turned her focus back to Cassie as Stiles struggled to hold Thera back. She’d never wanted anything to do with Cassie either, but her dislike for the girl was a small thing compared to her hatred for Peter. If she could work with Peter, she could _easily_ work with Cassie. Lydia was always vaguely aware of Cassie—and Peter, though the thought made her shudder—through the pack bond, but she imagined reaching out to her through the ring instead. Cassie felt like the tickle of a bug across her skin. Better than the shredding of teeth at least. Lydia shivered and reached further in, looking for something that felt like Thera.

                Lydia knew Thera had cast a spell to control Cassie, and that it had left something behind. Daemyn called it a framework, like Thera had laid out the basic pieces of a spell permanently and attached the rest to them when she needed to use it. He had explained why the whole spell couldn’t be permanent, but he kept referencing information Lydia didn’t have. What she could piece together sounded like Cassie would develop a resistance to a permanent spell. Thera would similarly resist their attempts to hold her, so they only had one chance to find the old framework and use it in reverse.

                Reaching Cassie through the rings was like when Daemyn bound her to a circle but also unlike it. She didn’t experience Cassie’s emotions or catch pieces of her thoughts. This felt more like touring a museum. She saw Cassie without being a part of her. Lydia preferred this feeling. She had control.

                She found the outline of something old stretching from Cassie to Thera. It wasn’t functional, and it was supposed to run toward Cassie. Lydia imagined running her hands along it, building it up, and reversing it. Then she noticed Cassie pushing along the framework. She made slow progress. Lydia envisioned it as an old train, stiffened by years and rust, beginning to move down the tracks again. She imagined the train picking up speed as it continued working its engines, and Cassie’s force sped up exactly as Lydia had imagined.

                When it struck Thera, the force of it reverberated out and back along the tracks. Cassie continued pushing through, and even though Lydia felt Thera try to fight back, nothing happened.

                “What are you doing?” Stiles asked. Lydia hoped it was Stiles. He had collapsed back onto the couch, and Lydia suspected he’d be on the floor if it hadn’t been so close.

                “We’re suppressing her.” Lydia said.

                “It’s temporary,” Cassie added with strain evident in her voice.

                Stiles nodded weakly.

                The others stood around them now. Lydia had lost track of their approach while she focused on her task. Daemyn pulled a smooth, red rock from Stiles’ pillowcase and held it out to him. Stiles’ eyes darted from Daemyn to the stone for too long. Lydia knew it for distrust even though Stiles took the stone in the end.

                “What’s his part?” Stiles asked, nodding to Peter.

                “I’m here in case everyone else fails.” Peter smiled with too many teeth.

                “So I guess it’s now or never.” Stiles leaned back against the couch. “What did you come up with?”

                Daemyn set his hand over the one Stiles now held the stone in. “Sorry,” he said. “It sort of sucks.”

                “Oh.” Stiles’ eyes fell to their hands. He stared at the stone for a long moment. Lydia saw recognition in his eyes and felt it through the pack bond and ring. He recognized the garnet and remembered what the old one had done to him. “Oh. That’s... That does suck.” He jerked his hand away. “How does that even—”

                “Her life is made of magic. She can’t live without it.” Daemyn left his hand where it had fallen against the couch.

                “That’s doesn’t mean—”

                “Yes, it does.”

                “But to kill her you’d have to take everything. I wouldn’t have any—”

                “You don’t have any magic, Stiles. It’s all hers.”

                “Shut up and let me talk!” Stiles pushed Daemyn away, but Derek shoved him back against the couch.

                “Stiles.” Derek kept a hand to Stiles’ chest, holding him down.

                “I’m useless without it.” His eyes and shoulders fell.

                Derek sent something through the pack bond, but Lydia couldn’t tell what. It reached only Stiles. “Would you rather be what it makes you?”

                Stiles gritted his teeth. For a moment Lydia thought he would continue to argue, but then he shook his head. “No.” His voice cracked.

                Daemyn took his hand again. Red light seeped out past their fingers. It pulsed, growing brighter with each beat. Everyone froze, watching Daemyn work his spell even though there was little to see.

                “Derek,” Stiles said into the silence. “Say something funny.”

                “What?” Derek frowned.

                “This could be my last chance to hear one, so try to make a metaphor for me.”

                “That’s a stupid idea.” He grunted but continued speaking when Stiles looked ready to argue. “I’m going to ram that idea’s face against its own steering wheel because it’s so stupid.”

                Stiles laughed. “You’re trying too hard.”

                “You put me on the spot.”

                “You still kept a straight face.”

                “This is the only face I have.”

                “I don’t know. It’s a little less straight when it’s kissing me.” He smirked.

                Derek leaned forward and pressed their lips together lightly. The kiss lingered only seconds, but already it felt too intimate for Lydia to be watching. Until this moment she’d actually had trouble picturing the two of them kissing.

                Stilinski cleared his throat. “Derek.”

                “I don’t care. He’s right. He could be dead fifteen minutes from now. Again.” Derek pulled back though.

                “Is it working?” Stilinski asked.

                “Yes,” Cassie and Daemyn both answered for their respective efforts.

                Lydia wondered what she was supposed to do now.

                “Hey, sorry to spoil the party,” Peter said, raising an eyebrow, “But does anyone else smell that?”

                Derek’s head swung around toward the front of the house. He and Peter both lunged to the front windows to look out the curtains. Lydia stumbled toward the window. Whatever she was doing to help now, assuming it was anything at all, was subconscious. She hated standing next to Peter but refused to show him any fear. She stepped right up to the window and looked outside only to gasp. At least it wasn’t fear of Peter. He chuckled anyway, but there was a strained note to it.

                In the Stilinski’s front yard were three walking corpses. Lydia recognized two of them instantly: Mina and Chase Mortimer. They looked almost exactly as they had before, except they’d been in the ground where they belonged then. The third was a rotted mess, properly decomposed and maggot-filled. Lydia took a step back.

                “Is that?” Derek asked.

                “Yeah,” Peter said. “Zombies.”

                “Zombies?” Stiles called from the couch. “Seriously?” Lydia turned to look at him but still caught Peter and Derek both nodding seriously. Stiles turned to his father. “There is a kit in my closet.”

                “What?” Stilinski looked at his son like he was crazy. Lydia agreed.

                “A zombie survival kit. In my closet. I have waited so long for this day.”

                “You _wanted_ zombies to come?” Lydia asked.

                “Well not wanted. Expected. Prepared for. Imagined it being cool while also realizing it would probably be the third worst day of my life.” He shrugged.

                “If the zombie apocalypse is number three, what are one and two?” Daemyn asked, though he appeared focused on Stiles’ hand.

                Stiles didn’t answer.

                Stilinski had retrieved his sidearm while they spoke and joined Peter, Derek, and Lydia at the window. “Huh,” he said. “You weren’t kidding.” He shook his head. “Zombies.”

                Lydia followed his gaze back out the window and shuddered. She caught Peter smirking at her and turned the step she took away from him into a turn. As she left the living room to find Stiles’ stupid zombie survival kit, Lydia made sure to strut like nothing there could hurt or scare her. She felt Peter’s eyes burn through her until she was fully out of sight.

                The kit was easy enough to find. A large backpack with a sleeping back attached to it sat in plain view at the back of Stiles’ closet. Inside she found mostly rations and survival tools, but she took a can of hairspray with a duct tape holster and a cheap lighter back to the living room with her.

                “Most of your beloved kit isn’t going to be much help right now, Stiles.” Lydia raised an eyebrow.

                “And yet you now hold a flamethrower.”

                “She _what_?” Stilinski spun, panic written over his face, but he relaxed when she held up her hairspray and lighter. “Don’t scare me like that.”

                “Actually, a flamethrower would be really helpful right now,” Peter said.

                Stilinski raised his gun toward the window to aim at the zombies.

                “Remember, Dad, headshots.”

                Stilinski groaned. Then he fixed his stance, took aim, and fired two shots through the window. The glass shattered at the first, leaving a clear hole for the second. “Headshot didn’t work.”

                “You got a...?” Peter looked out the window. “Color me impressed. But since these are probably animated by our friendly neighborhood necromancer rather than a hunger for brains, you’ve got to kill the human making puppets of them.”

                “Lame,” Stiles grumbled.

                “Lydia, Sheriff, stay back here with the others.” Derek said. “Peter and I will take care of these.”

                “We will?” Peter held up his hands as if telling Derek to slow down.

                “Yes. We will.”

                Peter rolled his eyes and followed Derek out the front door as they both shifted to their wolf forms. Their howls rang through the house, and Lydia wondered if they reached the rest of the pack too. She suddenly felt foolish for not having everyone here even though the idea had been to keep them safe if it went wrong.

 

**~.x.~**

There were only three. Derek could handle three shambling corpses alone, but he thought it best not to leave Peter behind when everyone else was essentially defenseless. As they left the house, Derek realized he knew the zombies. Mina, Chase, and Jenneva. The Mortimers had begun rotting, but Derek could still recognize their faces. Jenneva was a mess of dirt and maggots, her face unrecognizable. He had to identify her by her clothes and an educated guess as to who John would want to use. Derek wondered how John Mortimer had found her in the woods where the pack left her.

                Peter sent Derek a look. “Shall we get on with this?”

                Derek nodded. “Can you sense the necromancer?”

                “Not yet, but we can dismember his zombies while we’re waiting for him to show.”

                Derek grinned and charged forward, Peter at his side. They were careful not to bite the decayed flesh, but their claws worked well enough. The corpses were faster than Derek would have expected, and stronger. John must have been enhancing them somehow. As he fought, Derek focused his senses on tracking down John, but it was hard to smell his death-scent with corpses surrounding him.

                The zombies were armed. Mina swung a knife at Peter, who skipped away laughing. Derek found no such joy in the fight. He was built only of rage. Chase faced him with an axe, and Derek dodged his attacks. It should not have been so difficult to get close, but still it took three dodges before Derek slid through Chase’s guard to slash at his arm. It left Derek’s hand slick and foul but failed to slow Chase down even though Derek had sliced the tendons in his elbow.

                Derek leapt back from Chase, but Jenneva charged him. She held no weapon and slammed her shoulder against his side. Derek grunted and pushed her away. She was weaker than the others, and slower. Derek caught sight of movement around the side of the house and followed it, leaving the zombies to Peter. He ran, ready to put a stop to this so he could return to Stiles, but stopped dead as he turned a corner and faced his prey. It wasn’t John.

                It was Laura.

                She crawled forward, pulling her torso by her arms and gnashing her teeth. Her legs were not there. Were they still in her grave? Had she dragged herself all the way from there? Had John brought her here and then animated her? There wasn’t much of her left, mostly bone and insects with accents of rotted flesh barely holding it all together. Maggots fell from her mouth.

                Derek growled. He felt the heat of his eyes burning red and rage surged through him. It broke out of him into the pack bond. He couldn’t smother his rage, but he pulled it back into himself rather than infect the others. He needed it with him. Anger was his anchor. It kept him in control and made him strong. He roared at what John had dared do to his sister.

                He reached down to trace his sister’s cheek with a finger but tore it open with a claw instead. She tried to bite his hand. Derek found death and brine in the air still further away and turned from Laura to find it. He would bury her again when this was done.

 

**~.x.~**

Peter hadn’t expected the little old necromancer to show up on the battlefield, even if Derek had inexplicably run off. As he turned to greet the man, Mina-zombie clamped something between a bear trap and a bracelet on his wrist. It bit through his skin to leave him bleeding.

                “Rude,” he said, but John was already gone.

                Nearby, Derek howled, but through Peter’s mind it was a scream.

 

**~.x.~**

John spread his hands while Derek faced him down. “Can’t blame a man for trying,” he said.

                Derek growled, keeping his eyes trained on the necromancer. With his other senses, he searched for more corpse puppets, but either John was alone, or the stench of him covered that of his tools.

                “You should have left Laura alone,” Derek forced past his teeth and wolfish jaw. His sister’s body, dragging itself toward him by its arms swam in his vision. Derek shook his head to force it out. The anger he kept, but the image was a distraction.

                “And try to reach Thera with you still there to defend her?” John chuckled. “No, no, Derek. This was the best way.”

                Derek snarled and charged. When he hit John, the old man turned to smoke and drifted away at Derek’s touch. Derek spun, searching the area around him, and found John standing behind him a few yards. He laughed when he realized Derek had found him.

                “Did you really think it would be that easy?”

                “I had hoped.”

                Derek charged again, just in case, but John was still made of smoke. The scent of death surrounded Derek too strongly for him to track it to the real John. He bared his teeth and focused on his rage. Then John’s image faded. It looked like the smoke he’d used to form it, even without Derek touching it. His face froze, not like tensed muscles, but like hitting pause on a movie.

                Then the pack sense screamed.

                Derek’s knees hit dirt. He roared with pain, gripping his head between his hands. His muscles cramped and spasmed with pain so intense Derek had to remind himself it wasn’t his. It belonged to someone else, someone who needed his help. Once he’d forced that thought through and found a way to his feet, Derek recognized the pain’s source.

                Stiles.

                Derek slashed at John, but he was still only an illusion. With a howl, Derek left him behind. Stiles was dying. Derek raced through the night, and the howls of his pack echoed back to him. He blocked the pain from reaching them, but he sent through urgency, danger, and Stiles’ scent. They would come. Derek felt it through the pack bond and howled again as he ran.

 

**~.x.~**

Stiles listened to the wolves howling and tried not to flinch. They got to have power. Maybe Peter was right. Maybe Stiles should have taken the bite. Thera laughed at him, but then Cassie forced her back again and Stiles laughed right back. All her power, and she was done for by a little spider. Stiles felt that power seeping from them though. Deamyn had bored through him and into his blood the same as the first time, and he took all of Stiles’ power for himself. Thera’s. Thera’s power. It had never belonged to Stiles.

                _It could,_ Thera whispered to him, but he knew better. She wouldn’t give him anything.

                Stiles felt the hardness of the tumbled garnet in his hand. Someone had slipped it into his pillowcase. How long had he been sleeping over it? He ran his thumb along the ring now on his other hand. It was made of hematite. Stiles didn’t know what that meant exactly, but it was the name Thera gave the stone. As a kid, Stiles had gone to parks that sold hematite rings. Everyone who bought one inevitably dropped it and shattered it against the concrete. Thera said that sounded like a good idea, but Stiles cut her off.

                Both stones had Deaton written all over them.

                “Where’s he going?” Lydia asked from where she stood beside Stiles’ father, staring out the window with her makeshift flamethrower still in hand. Stiles was proud of that zombie survival kit, no matter what Lydia said.  

                “Maybe he’s finding the necromancer?” Stiles’ dad said, but he sounded less than certain.

                “What’s going on?” Stiles asked because he welcomed a distraction from the feeling of being sucked dry.

                “Derek just ran off.” Lydia said. “Wait, is that...?”

                “I couldn’t tell you, seeing as I’m on the couch.”

                “I don’t have a lot of experience with this stuff,” Stiles’ father said, “But I get the feeling that’s bad.”

                “What’s bad?” Stiles started to stand, but Cassie and Daemyn pressed him back against the couch.

                The door crashed open. Peter staggered in, blood dripping from his wrist. Three zombies followed him in.

                “That,” Stiles father told him as he leveled his gun at Peter. “What are you doing?”

                “Dad,” Stiles said, “Did we ever tell you Peter used to be dead?”

                “He what?” He changed his aim to Peter’s leg and fired a round. “Never mind. Tell me later.”

                Peter staggered but limped forward on the injured leg. Blood flowed from the bullet hole; it wouldn’t have bled if he were dead.

                Cassie turned at the sound of the gunshot. She’d been sitting with her back to the door, and now she saw Peter and the zombies—Stiles tried not to think too hard about that being a cool band name—for the first time. Her hold on Thera weakened a she gasped, flinching away from the zombies.

                “Sweet Jenn!” Thera said with Stiles’ mouth. “Been a while since we saw her, huh, Cassie?”

                “It’s not... it can’t be...” Cassie raised a hand to cover her mouth.

                Stiles grabbed her hand. “It’s okay, Cassie.”

                “No, it’s not,” she hissed. “I was my fault. I—”

                “How many people have you killed?” Stiles asked, cutting her off.

                “The others survived, so just her, I guess.” Stiles was pretty sure he’d shocked her into answering.

                “Well, I’ve got three, and I’m not forgetting to subdue the evil faerie living in my brain, so let’s you try it too.”

                “Three?” His father called back as he fired another round into Peter’s shoulder.

                Lydia held up her makeshift flamethrower. They were getting close now. Stiles wondered why they were moving so slowly.

                “The others happened after our talk.”

                “Stiles.”

                “They had kidnapped Scott.”

                “Stiles.”

                “They were unicorns.”

                “No, Stiles—”

                “One of them used to go to school with us.”

                “Stiles, RUN!”

                Peter rushed forward as Stiles’ dad shouted but only rammed him against the window and charged for Stiles. Lydia used her flamethrower too late to catch him but set fire to the other three as they tried to pass. She screamed, but Stiles didn’t get to see why because Peter had reached them. He tore Daemyn away from Stiles and hurled him against a wall. Cassie pulled away from Stiles and Thera to attack Peter. Her fingers shifted into long black points that slashed through the skin of his face.

                “Whoa,” he said, “Not the face.”

                “Peter, are you..?”

                He lunged at her again. “Nope,” he said. “He’s still controlling me.” His brows pulled down in concern as he hurled Cassie over the back of the couch. “Which is very unpleasant.”

                Stiles tried to scramble over the back of the couch, but Peter caught him by his neck. He squeezed, cutting off Stiles’ air, and his claws dug into the skin of Stiles’ throat. Gasping for air, Stiles brought his hands to claw at Peter’s, but he was too weak to get away.

                Then Thera was free. They still had some magic left, and she hurled a blast of it at Peter through the stone Daemyn used to drain them. Peter and Stiles both flew backward. The garnet shattered. Stiles hit first the doorframe then the floor. He pushed himself to his knees, coughing, and trying to catch his breath. One hand rose to his throat. Then Peter was back. His foot rammed against Stiles’ side to send him crashing back against the doorframe. 

                With a shriek, Cassie leapt on Peter before he reached Stiles again. Her eyes glowed purple as her skin turned black and her teeth to fangs. Her fangs bit into Peter’s neck as her claws raked across his skin. Peter threw her off him to the ground and smashed both of her legs until they broke with a sickening crack. Cassie screamed. She began healing, but it would be a while before she could fight.

                Behind them, Stiles father had holstered his gun. He’d probably run out of ammunition. Blood leaked down from a wound at the back of his head and soaked into the collar of his shirt. Lydia stood beside him with a lighter in one hand but no sign of the hairspray. It had probably run out too. Jenneva was on the ground, flailing but unable to stand. Mina and Chase kept advancing, but Daemyn stood between the zombies and the humans. He would fight them off.

                But that left Stiles alone against Peter.

                _Not alone,_ Thera reminded him. She summoned her power for another blast, but Stiles pulled her back. That thing on Peter’s wrist was new. It was hurting him. Stiles thought it must be how John was controlling him. Thera agreed. She wanted to blast Peter across the room anyway, but Stiles took her magic and directed it at the wrist trap. The thing deflected it. Thera raged against the barrier between them.

                After casting the failed spell, Stiles felt weaker. They were running low on magic now. Thera had meant to kill Peter and escape to rebuild her strength in safety, but they didn’t have the power for that now. Stiles backed away from Peter, who advanced slowly, too slowly since he was a werewolf and much faster than Stiles could ever be.

                “Why the zombie shamble?”

                Peter barked out a laugh. “He’s not strong enough now for more. Probably. Unless he’s holding back. If it were me, I’d have been holding back before and unleash it right about now when I’ve got you cornered.”

                “You talk pretty easily considering you’re under a necromancer’s control,” Thera told him. She knew the spell should have a stronger effect on him and shared that knowledge with Stiles. Peter hadn’t spoken when first he entered the house though. Maybe the spell was weakening. If they were lucky, all they had to do was wait him out.

                They still had power though.

                Thera pushed Stiles away from that thought. She needed a reserve. Without it she would—That was what they’d been doing before the attack. Spending her reserves to kill her.

                _If I die, you’ll never have magic again._ Thera hissed. She carried his body away from Peter, taking advantage of his slowed reflexes to leap past him and dive toward Daemyn and the others. Chase had joined Jenneva on the ground, still trying to stand, but limbs too broken to physically take the weight. Only Mina advanced on them now, and Thera slipped Stiles past her to skid in beside Lydia and Stiles’ dad. Daemyn could handle the zombies this way, and she would be safe.

                Stiles stepped forward though. Thera screamed for him to step back, that he needed her to have power, that Daemyn could handle it. Stiles focused on all the anger he felt toward Thera and sent it down to his fingertips. He reached forward, and when he expelled the spark of fire, he shot it toward Mina. She went up in flame, and Stiles controlled it carefully enough to burn her but not the house. When she fell, he extinguished the flames.

                Thera screamed, throwing her last ounce of strength at Stiles, but the barrier deflected her. She reached for the power, to hold it in, but Stiles took Daemyn’s hand. Daemyn accepted him into a bond instantly, and they both faced Peter as he approached. His shamble had slowed even more now.

                “I think I’ve almost got my land legs back,” he said. “Almost.”

                Thera knew what Stiles didn’t about that wrist trap. Daemyn had ideas, but not certain knowledge.

                _Mother,_ he said, and she reacted to his mind touching hers. She reached to embrace him, and Stiles slipped in to find what he needed. By the time Daemyn pushed his mother back, Stiles knew how to destroy the trap. He also knew it would take all the power he had left, and he’d still need Daemyn to break the wards down first.

                Daemyn could destroy it.

                The draining spell, though incomplete, had already made Daemyn stronger. He could break the wards and destroy the trap, and then Stiles would keep his power. He wouldn’t have to go back to being helpless. Daemyn severed the wards and squeezed his hand, and Stiles poured the last of Thera’s magic over the wrist trap. He beat against it for as long as he could, almost convinced Thera had managed to deceive him. Then it opened and fell, and the last drop of magic drained from Stiles as the trap shattered.

                He screamed. Or Thera screamed. He felt her dying inside him, withering away to char and smoke. Faeries left no corpses, but Stiles felt the rubbed-raw spaces inside him where she had fit. They screamed like she’d been torn from him, and his left eye—the blue eye—burned. Stiles collapsed against the pain as his throat gave out. Tears burned from his right eye, but the left stayed dry despite the agony. Stiles beat his fists against the floor, and when that didn’t help clawed at his chest to reach the pain and pull it out.

                Someone grabbed his hands, and Stiles lashed out at them. His eyes were squeezed shut now even though he tried to open them. His body trembled. It hurt as bad as when he’d cut open his wrist. It hurt worse. No one had healed him before death came this time.


	27. Aftershocks

Stiles wanted to pass out. Instead he lay on the couch, shaking with aftershocks of pain. The others watched over him, even Peter. Lydia stroked his forehead and smiled down at him. It wasn’t a happy smile. She looked ready to cry. Maybe she already had, but Stiles couldn’t remember. Cassie sat in a chair with her legs propped up and her face twisted up in pain. She was still healing. Daemyn and Stiles’ father whispered to each other across the room.

                “What are they saying?” he asked Peter too softly for his voice to travel far. His throat was so raw it came out as little more than a croak anyway.

                Peter chuckled and leaned in. Lydia pulled back when he did. “They’re worried about your emotional state following all this. They shouldn’t. You’ll pull through.”

                “What makes you so sure?”

                Peter looked at him like it was obvious. “I don’t take no for an answer from just anyone, Stiles.” He smirked and strolled over to harass Cassie. Or apologize. Judging by their expressions and Stiles’ experience with Peter, it was probably both.

                Derek burst through the door. It had already hung dangerously ajar and now fell off its hinges entirely. His eyes glowed such a brilliant red Stiles could have sworn they cast light like the garnets had. He panted for a moment, claws and fangs at the ready, checking for any remnant of danger. Then Derek was at Stiles’ side and human except for the red of his eyes.

                “You’re alive,” he said, voice breathless from running or relief.

                “Usually.” Stiles coughed.

                “I felt you dying.” He took Stiles’ hand and squeezed it between his.

                “That was Thera.”

                “She’s gone then?”

                “Yeah, she’s gone.”

                Stiles wasn’t prepared for Derek to smash their lips together and kiss him like they’d just watched the world burn down together. Then again, they basically had. Stiles grabbed a fistful of Derek’s hair and kissed him back, ignoring the soreness and pain in his body. He also ignored his father clearing his throat loudly, but Derek jerked away like he’d forgotten they weren’t alone.

                “He’s still under eighteen.”

                Derek nodded dumbly while Stiles rolled his eyes.

                “It’s really, really weird seeing you two kiss,” Scott said. He must have arrived while Stiles was distracted.

                “Weird and uncomfortable. It’s like watching my big brother and my cousin make out. Oh, God, it’s great to get that off my chest.” Isaac let out a relieved sigh.

                “That wasn’t why I said it was weird,” Scott pointed out. “I just have trouble imagining either of them kissing anybody.”

                Isaac’s face froze into an uncomfortable mask of a smile, and Stiles wondered why exactly he saw things differently than Scott would. Then he remembered that Isaac and Derek lived together. And he remembered that werewolves had super senses. And he remembered exactly how _he’d_ relieved the... emotional buildup of spending time with Derek.

                “Oh my God,” he said but couldn’t get any further and sputtered instead. He guessed by Isaac’s expression that he’d gotten it right.

                Lydia snickered. She must have reached the same conclusion Stiles did. “You poor thing,” she said, but laughter was clear in her voice.

                Derek scowled.

                Stiles laughed, and Derek scowled harder.

                Stiles laughed so hard his eyes shut and his sides hurt, so he just had to imagine Derek’s scowl drooping down his chin. He choked on his laughter and somehow kept on laughing even though he couldn’t breathe and every shake ran through his body like getting hit by a truck during an earthquake. When he opened his eyes again, Derek’s mouth had reformed to a straight line except for a small twinge at the corner. It returned to scowling the moment he realized Stiles could see him, and Stiles pushed Derek away by his face.

                “Stop it, you ass.”

                Derek scowled. “I’m not doing anything.”

                “You are too.”

                “This is my natural face.” He frowned so hard Stiles worried his face would stick that way.

                “Oh my God. You’re ridiculous.” He wheezed past his laughter. “Your face is killing me. Literally. Killing me.”

                “I think it’s just you. No one else is laughing.”

                “I’m laughing on the inside,” Stiles’ dad said.

                “I’m just really confused,” Scott said.

                “I need pizza. Do you have any pizza?” Isaac walked past everyone into the kitchen. Lydia stood and followed him.  
                “Is he stealing our food now?” Stiles’ dad asked.

                “Yeah, I think so,” Stiles said. “I don’t know why he likes pizza so much.” His throat was so dry it almost hurt to talk, but Lydia returned from the kitchen with a glass of water. She handed it to Stiles and stood with her hands on her hips.

                “It’s aromatic and delicious,” Isaac called back from the kitchen. Then, “PIZZA!”

                Stiles downed the water, then turned and eyed his father. “We aren’t supposed to have pizza. It’s terrible for you.” Lydia took the glass and returned to the kitchen.

                “It’s for Daemyn. He’s never tried pizza.”

                “Uh-huh.”

                “I can’t make him eat it alone. Pizza is a group activity.”

                “Uh-huh.”

                “Stop it, Stiles. _I’m_ the parent here.”

                “Or so you say.”

                His father got out of saying more when the rest of the pack piled through the broken doorway. They grouped around Stiles to make sure he was okay. Erica moved to check on Cassie pretty quickly, and Allison joined her once she was certain Stiles and Lydia were fine. Boyd stood by the broken window, surveying the room. He looked satisfied. Then his nose twitched, and he walked to the kitchen. Stiles couldn’t smell pizza yet, but he wasn’t exactly a werewolf either. Then Boyd trudged back in looking less pleased than before.

                “How long does your oven take to preheat?” he demanded.

                Stiles rolled his eyes. “Like ten minutes, dude. Chill.”

                Boyd nodded and returned to the kitchen. Lydia passed him on the way out and raised an eyebrow at him. Boyd shrugged. Lydia smirked. Stiles wondered what exactly he’d missed. Lydia brought him more water, so he opted not to ask questions.

                “I just lost my pizza, didn’t I?” Stiles’ father leaned against the back of the couch with a sigh.

                “I thought you said it was for Daemyn.” Stiles smirked.

                “Pizza is a synonym for quality bonding time with my grandchild. That was what I meant.”

                “I’m beginning to see where Stiles gets it.” That sounded like Scott’s mom. Sure enough, when Stiles looked to the doorway, he found Melissa McCall standing with her hands on her hips. “Who is going to tell me why I have no idea what’s going on here?”

                Scott’s eyes fell. “Sorry, Mom.”

                “Don’t you ‘sorry, Mom’ me.” She strolled into the room, studying the damage done by the attack. Then she sighed. “I’ve got a first aid kit in my car. Is anyone who can’t heal themselves injured?”

                “My dad is!” Stiles piped up.

                “I’m fine. Stiles is hurt.”

                “I think he hit his head in the window in that place where it’s all cracked up but to the side of the bullet hole.” Stiles pointed to the ruined window.

                “I said I’m fine. Look at Stiles.”

                “I’ll check on you both, but head injuries are serious,” Melissa said. “I’m getting the kit. I’ll be right back.” As she turned around, she called over her shoulder. “Someone give him a chair to sit on.”

                Stiles laughed, and Erica bounced out of the armchair she’d taken beside Cassie to pull Stiles’ father down into it. He sighed like they’d placed a great weight on his shoulders.

Peter leaned over the back of the couch to whisper in Stiles’ ear. “You’re injured worse.” Stiles swatted him away, but Peter caught his hand before it touched him. Derek growled, and Peter let go with a chuckle. “So touchy.” He shrugged and drifted away and out the door.

                Stiles looked around the room. Something was off. The pack was still up to their usual shenanigans, but... Jackson and Daemyn were missing. Maybe they’d joined Boyd and Isaac for pizza, but Stiles never noticed them leave the room. Then again, he hadn’t noticed Jackson entering it, or being there at all.

                “Hey, where’d Daemyn go?” He asked Derek.

                Derek shrugged. “He’s in his room.” Stiles started to stand, but Derek pushed him back down. Despite the gentle touch he used, Stiles winced at the pressure Derek put on him. “Daemyn’s fine. And my uncle’s a creep, but he’s right. You’re obviously hurt.”

                Stiles scowled, but Derek slipped an arm around him and almost smiled. Or at least stopped frowning. He rubbed his nose against Stiles’ temple for a moment before pressing a kiss to the skin.

                “I’m not going to ask about that,” Melissa said. “I probably don’t want to know.”

                “You really don’t,” Stiles father told her as she opened her first aid kit on the end table beside his chair.

                Derek frowned at him until Stiles poked him in the ribs.

 

**~.x.~**

“Why are you telling me this?” Daemyn pouted even though he was obviously trying not to. They stood in Daemyn’s room, but Jackson had convinced him to put up some kind of sound block so no one would overhear.

                Jackson groaned internally. “I don’t even know. It’s not like I care.”

                “Then maybe you should just go.”

                “No, I...” Jackson tried to sort out his thoughts. “I will never admit to this, so don’t go spreading it around, but I might care just a little, okay. I have... issues with my parents too. Yours are different, but being the spawn of an evil faerie is kind of unique.”

                Daemyn crossed his arms. Jackson supposed it was meant to look more intimidating, but Daemyn just looked like a hurt kid.

                “Stiles is your dad, but he’s... God, Lydia could explain this better. There’s psychology crap involved, I’m sure.”

                “It’s weird seeing you stumble around like that.”

                “Shut up.”

                “You’re just usually so sure of how much you don’t care.”

                Jackson snarled. He felt the heat of his eyes glowing, but Daemyn didn’t react to it. “You’re a rape baby,” he growled at him. “No matter how much Stiles loves you, assuming he does love you, he’s going to see what your mother did when he looks at you.”

                “My father loves me.”

                “Good for you. I’m just saying don’t hold it against him when he forgets to act like it.”

                “He’s been good to me ever since he took me in. He’s not—”

                “He hasn’t had a moment to breathe ever since he took you in. He was constantly either dying or waiting to die.” This was the part Jackson didn’t quite get. The part where people couldn’t hide away their feelings. “Now that it’s over, Stiles will have to face what’s happened. He’s not okay with it, Daemyn. There was a lot of shit in all, but you’re part of it.”

                “What do you want from me, Jackson? Do you want me to say my daddy doesn’t love me? Will that make you feel better?”

                “No.” Jackson had made a mistake. That was clear. He wasn’t cut out for this good samaritan crap. “I’m just trying to warn you that your dad needs serious therapy and probably isn’t going to admit it.”

                “Well, so do you. What of it?”

                Jackson groaned. “Whatever, kid. I’m out.” He turned, but Daemyn caught his wrist.

                “No, you’re not. Every time you start talking to me, you cut off partway through and just leave me there.” Daemyn pulled Jackson back around, and with a sigh, Jackson let him.

                “I don’t do feelings. It’s too much of a hassle.”

                “You obviously do feelings, or you wouldn’t be here right now.”

                Jackson frowned because it rang too true. It was easier to pretend he didn’t care. “I’ve said what I wanted to say.”

                “Well, I haven’t.” Daemyn took a deep breath. “It wouldn’t hurt your image to act like you care about your friends.”

                “We’re not friends.”

                “But we’re pack.”

                Jackson felt the truth of that in the pack bond. He hated Derek for his new alpha empath shit. He’d never felt this close to anyone except... Jackson flinched away from the thought. It wasn’t something he remembered clearly anyway. “Yeah,” he muttered. “We’re pack.” He felt something strengthen between them when he said the words, and Jackson wished he could rip it out of his chest.

                “They told me what the bite did to you.”

                Jackson hissed, stepping back, but Daemyn caught his wrist again.

                “I’m just saying so you know... You’ve known them all so long, maybe it’s hard to admit things to them that you haven’t before. But we only just met. You could tell me.”

                “I feel like this was supposed to be the other way around.” Jackson twitched with his need to get out, away from Daemyn and his compassion.

                “Both ways would be cool, wouldn’t it?” Daemyn smiled softly. “We don’t have to be friends, but pack is there for each other.”

                “Fine,” Jackson forced through gritted teeth. “But not right now.”

                Daemyn nodded and lunged forward to hug Jackson. Jackson patted his back a couple times and hoped this wasn’t something he expected regularly. Hugs had never been Jackson’s thing.

 

**~.x.~**

When everyone else had gone, three Stilinskis sat on the couch, Stiles at the center. They’d spent most of the night awake with the pack, and now they were still, finally facing what had happened. Stiles rubbed sleep from his eyes and scratched an itch on his nose.

                “I’m glad you two are okay,” he said.

                “You too.” His dad wrapped an arm over Stiles’ shoulders and pulled Daemyn closer so the arm reached around him too.

                “Daemyn,” Stiles said. “I...” He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. The only times Stiles couldn’t think of anything to say were when he needed words most. “Sorry I killed your mom again.” It came out pitifully.

                “She tried to kill you first, and,” he took a long, stuttering breath. “And I helped this time.”

                Stiles pulled Daemyn farther forward so his head rested against Stiles’ shoulder. “I’m sorry.” Stiles had pushed him into that, even if Daemyn had agreed. He rubbed circles against Daemyn’s back and hoped it was soothing.

                “We should all get some sleep,” Stiles’ father said, but he didn’t move.

                “Yeah,” Stiles agreed.

                “I’m afraid to sleep,” Daemyn admitted.

                “Yeah,” Stiles agreed.

                His father pulled them both closer.

 

**~.x.~**

Derek was waiting in Stiles’ bedroom, sitting in a chair since there was no bed now. They had moved the wreckage of the old one out but not yet replaced it.

                “I thought you left,” Stiles said, going to his chest of drawers to pull out something clean to sleep in. He didn’t plan on waking up again for a week, even if he had to deal with the door and window being repaired right next to him.

                Derek shook his head.

                Stiles had hoped to put it off, but he was starting to think Derek needed to hear this as soon as possible. He took a deep breath and dove in. “I don’t know if you convinced yourself it was the magic or Thera, but... what I did—almost did to you. That was me.”

                “You stopped.”

                “I almost didn’t.” Stiles shuddered at the memory.

                “But you did.”

                “But I still started. I was going to rape you, Derek.” Derek flinched at the word. “I didn’t care what you wanted or needed. The magic let me hold you down, but it didn’t make me a different person.”

                “It did.” Stiles began to argue again, but Derek cut him off. “It was still you, but a different version of you.” Derek breathed out, long and slow, with his eyes closed. Then he opened them to look at Stiles. “I’m not saying we’re fine, just that we can be. Will be. Eventually.”

                Stiles cocked his head. “Sorry, did _Derek Hale_ just admit to emotional problems and the need to work through them like actual adults instead of hoping it goes away if he frowns long and hard enough?”

                “Don’t be an ass.” Derek frowned. “Everyone knows donkeys are skittish around wolves, and I don’t think that’s what I want from a relationship.”

                Stiles laughed. “You need to stop. The jokes are getting ridiculous.”

                “It’s been a while since I had someone I could joke to.” His mouth was a straight line, but his eyes were sad. “Not that Laura actually thought I was funny.”

                Stiles crossed to Derek’s chair then and sat in his lap to hug him. They fit awkwardly in the chair together, but Stiles made the best of it, swinging his legs over the arm and pulling Derek’s face to rest against his neck. He brushed a hand through Derek’s hair.

                “My younger cousins thought I was hilarious.” Derek spoke softly against Stiles’ neck. “I helped them build a little stage with curtains and a handful of sock puppets with stupid names, and they put on a show for everyone. They’d made a puppet with blue buttons for eyes without telling me and called it Derek. Throughout their show, Derek puppet would show up and say something ridiculous, and all the other puppets would laugh as the kids giggled. Peter told me afterward that I was good with kids.” He wrapped his arms around Stiles’ middle and held him close. “I’m not good with kids anymore.”

                “Shh, I’m trying to picture you as the funny one.”

                “Shut up.”

                “I think you could be good with kids. You’re just scared.”

                Derek growled, but the sound was weak and died off quickly.

                “It’s okay to be.” Stiles pressed a kiss to Derek’s forehead.

                “Only if you’ll be scared with me.” Stiles didn’t think they were talking about Derek’s cousins anymore.

                “Trust me,” Stiles whispered. “I’m terrified.”

 

**~.x.~**

It had been a long time since Stiles felt so alone. He lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Even though he wanted desperately to sleep, he couldn’t. Instead he probed the empty spaces in his mind where Thera once lived. He kept getting up to check in the mirror that both of his eyes stayed brown. So far they had. Nothing he did found any sign of Thera, but he still almost felt her there. It reminded him of the echo of weight that stayed behind after Derek lay on his arm too long. It made him think of the things he’d read online about phantom limbs.

                There was so much Stiles could do now that Thera was dead. He could get to know Daemyn. He could date Derek. He could spend time with the pack, go back to school, and try not to get killed by the next monster to visit Beacon Hills.

                But he couldn’t use magic. He couldn’t defend his pack or attack his enemies. He couldn’t live in fire and burn with it. Stiles pulled his blanket closer around him. He still wanted magic. Part of him clung to the hope Deaton had given him, but Stiles knew better. Thera had searched him for magic and taken any last scrap for her own. If there’d been any left, his final spell wouldn’t have killed her.

                Stiles would never have magic again.

                He squeezed his eyes shut against that thought and gripped the blanket with trembling fists. When his breathing sped up, Stiles focused, trying to slow it down. Breath in. One, Two—it didn’t help. Stiles trembled, gasping for breath. Nothing he did pushed back the panic strangling him. Stiles tried to lift himself off the couch, but he shook and stumbled and fell against the coffee table. He hit the floor, still gasping, and gave up on standing. His face pressed against the carpet, mouth open against it, sucking in tiny gasps of air and forcing them back out in pained huffs.

                No one found him. It didn’t pass so much as slowly leech away. If he’d had any energy to begin with, Stiles would think it’d drained him. He lay on the floor savoring the air as it passed into his lungs and back out.

                “Sorry, am I interrupting?”

                Stiles scrambled to his feet, pushing himself up by the same coffee table he’d hit on his way down. John Mortimer stood in front of the window, smiling.

                “Not at all.” His voice was still hoarse.

                “I hear Thera’s dead.”

                “As a doornail.” Stiles gritted his teeth. If John decided to attack, there wasn’t much Stiles could do to stop him.

                “You’ll forgive me if I insist on making sure.”

                “No, I don’t think I will.” Stiles backed away as John stepped forward. Something in the old man’s demeanor said he meant more than a quick search for Thera. He meant to finish the job anyway.

                “Pity.” He reached a hand into the pocket of his coat.

                “Hey, we both wanted Thera dead, and she is. Really the only reason we didn’t get along before was that I was unfortunate enough to have the same body she did. That’s not a problem anymore, so we can be friends now and go our separate ways. Maybe exchange emails every once in a while.”

                “I don’t think so.”

                “Yeah, you’re more of a snail mail slash magical instant transmission of messages guy, I can tell. Anyway, now that we’re such good friends, I’ve got something you should have. It belonged to Chase.” Stiles only hoped it worked. He began backing away, hoping he could stall long enough to lead John to his bedroom.

                “Something of Chase’s?” He stepped forward, following Stiles’ slow movement down the hall.

                “I mean, I guess I don’t technically know which one of them owned it, but Chase usually handled the magic stuff right?” Stiles shrugged. “Even if we weren’t such wonderful chums that I wanted to return it to you, it’s not of much use to me since I have no magic.” Stiles babbled as best he could, trying to keep John interested without saying exactly what he had hidden in his desk drawer.

                They reached his room, and Stiles tried to hide his relief. “Come on,” he said, waving John in. “It’s over here. I think he’d want you to have it.”

                John followed Stiles to his desk, and Stiles opened the drawer to pull out the bracelet Chase had used to keep Stiles from escaping the Mortimers with magic. Stiles spun with an innocent smile on his face and clamped it onto John’s wrist.

                “There! Isn’t it lovely?”

                “What have you done?” John tried to claw at the bracelet, but its magic repelled him. Only someone else could remove it.”

                Stiles sighed. “I’ve killed you.”

                “No, you’ve only—”

                The bracelet wasn’t the only weapon in his desk drawer. Stiles pulled out a small, plain-hilted dagger and slid it into John’s gut. The old man doubled over. Gasping with the effort, Stiles dragged John out of his room and down the hall. When John tried to shout, Stiles punched him hard enough that his jaw cracked.

                His hands started shaking after that.

                It felt like his insides were shaking too.

                Stiles still dragged John into the bathroom and shoved him into the tub. His knuckles were white around the hilt of his dagger. His hands shook. John tried to pull something from his pocket, but he was old and weak without his magic. Stiles stopped him.

                “Stiles.”

                A glance over his shoulder showed both his father and his son watching.

                “I need to kill him,” Stiles said, surprised at the steadiness of his voice.

                His dad shook his head, but neither of them could say he didn’t. When he stepped forward, Stiles rammed the dagger into the old man’s neck and pulled to the side before anyone could stop him. He couldn’t fight John off without magic, and he wouldn’t trick him again. He had to kill him.

                Blood sprayed onto his face and poured over his hands. His father pulled him away from the tub and struggled to hold Stiles down. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and willed the world away. The feel of his father’s arms holding him back was how Stiles knew he was still struggling. Cool hands settled against the sides of Stiles face.

                “Stiles,” Daemyn said, and Stiles couldn’t answer him.

                “It’ll be okay, Stiles. Just calm down.” His dad held him tighter.

                “Dad,” Daemyn said, and Stiles opened his eyes and screamed at him. “Please, Dad...”

                Stiles’ shouts faded to sobs. He clutched his father’s arms around him and pulled Daemyn forward. His hands left streaks of blood behind.

 

**~.x.~**

Derek and Peter took care of everything. Of the body anyway. Stiles had taken to carving the number four with any tool he could find, and they couldn’t take care of that. They had taken his dagger and done away with it just like the body. Stiles’ dad alternated between insisting Stiles speak to a therapist and deciding it was too dangerous.

                Deaton knew Ms. Morrell at the school, but Stiles kept ‘forgetting’ to tell his father his secrets had a safe place with her. He also kept ‘forgetting’ the appointments she scheduled for him during lunch and after school. Instead, he used a screwdriver to carve the number four into the trunk of a ruined tree in the forest he’d burned down. His father knew what the number meant. Four people he’d killed.

                The pack’s worry nearly drowned Stiles. Derek either hoped it would bring Stiles to his senses or would help him realize he could turn to them for help. Stiles frowned. He didn’t want help. He wanted magic. He wanted to go back to before he’d awoken Thera for a do-over. He wanted his life to be a bad dream.

                Since that wasn’t an option, Stiles tried not to shout at Daemyn just for reminding him of Thera. He tried not to push Derek away just for caring too softly. He tried not to blame his friends for the pity in their eyes. He tried not to lie to his father too much. He tried not to kill anyone else.

                Sometimes he remembered that Thera couldn’t stop him this time if the person he killed was himself.

                The thought always made him shudder and pull back. He’d wanted to kill Thera, not to die. Stiles scrubbed his hands over his face and breathed in deeply. This place smelled of desolation. He liked it. Its outside fit his inside. He supposed that was appropriate since he was the one who burned it.

                “Interesting hiding spot,” Peter said, stepping out from behind a charred husk that used to be a tree.

                Stiles shrugged. He hadn’t heard Peter coming, but that hardly surprised him. Peter was a werewolf. Stiles was only human.

                “I bet if you asked, he’d give you the bite.”

                Stiles narrowed his eyes. He knew Peter couldn’t read minds, but sometimes he came so close.

                “You know you want it now, don’t you?”

                Stiles nodded bitterly. “I won’t ask him.”

                “What? You want him to ask you?” Peter chuckled.

                “If he did, I’d turn him down.” He pressed his hands against the burnt ground and ran his fingers through the ash.

                “I thought you wanted it.”

                “I do. I wanted magic too.” Stiles took a shaky breath through his mouth, tasting the ash in the air. “I wanted to see the stone woman under the water. I wanted to be powerful. I wanted to _burn._ I wanted Derek. And I wanted to kill.” Stiles voice rose as he spoke but failed him suddenly at the end. He gripped fistfuls of ash and sat trembling in the wasteland he’d made. Tears burned in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall while Peter watched.

                “Yes, I’m sure you think you ruin everything you touch.” Peter rolled his eyes. “But look at this, Stiles.” He brushed aside some of the ash to reveal a tiny shoot of green. Just a leaf at the end of less than an inch of curving stem.

                The single new sprout in a ruined land was such a familiar and overdone image Stiles couldn’t help but laugh. So that was his life now: a wave of destruction and a metaphor of hope. The tears fell, but he didn’t care anymore.

                “I thought you’d get a kick out of that.” Peter stood and walked away into what was left of the woods. “It’ll be a forest again yet,” he said as he left. “What will you be?”

 

**~.x.~**

Derek held Stiles close, listening to the beat of his heart. Stiles clutched at Derek’s shirt, stretching the fabric with clawed fingers. Stiles had finally chosen a new bed. It fit the two of them more easily than the old one had. Stilinski didn’t approve. He kept finding excuses to pass by the room. There was nothing to see though. Derek and Stiles were both fully dressed. They just lay together in the bed and hadn’t even kissed in hours.

                “I told Thera she ruined our chance to fall in love,” Derek said, and he heard Stiles’ breath catch. “I think I was wrong.”

                “Shut up, Derek.” Stiles crushed his face against Derek’s chest. His feet hung off the edge of the bed even though Derek lay too high up on the pillows. They were too tall to lie like this.

                “Why?”

                “Because I said so.”

                “Because you don’t want to hear it or because you won’t say it back?” It hurt to ask, but Derek felt the warmth of Stiles pressed against him and knew he had to. It wasn’t something he’d have ever asked before, but it was different with Stiles.

                “That’s not fair.” Stiles pushed him away. “You’re a social and emotional wreck. You don’t know how to handle yourself, much less other people. Where do you get off asking something like that?”

                “Stiles.” Derek frowned.

                “No. Why does everyone think just my name is enough to say?”

                “At least decide if you think I’m saying too much or too little.”

                “I don’t have to.” Stiles wrapped his arms around himself. “I don’t have to do anything.” His eyes flashed over to Derek. “Tell me something. If I asked you to, would you give me the bite?”

                “What?”

                “Would you bite me?”

                Derek frowned. The bite wouldn’t help Stiles right now, and it would take better if he waited until he’d already helped himself. “Are you asking for it?”

                Stiles shook his head.

                “Then it doesn’t matter.”

                “Yes it does. If I was asking, would you do it?”

                Derek pulled back from the intensity of Stiles’ eyes. “No,” he said. “Not now.” He wanted to, but he would wait. He would make Stiles wait.

                Stiles nodded to himself, biting at his lower lip.

                Derek tried not to frown at him. He wasn’t angry, just confused. With one arm, he propped himself up to stare at Stiles, and he used the hand of the other arm to rub at his chest. He wasn’t angry. That was a strange feeling. Derek had spent so much of his life angry that he forgot it wasn’t normal.

                “You’d make a great wolf,” Derek told him. “Someday. If you did ask.” He imagined running beside Stiles and wanted it so bad his heart ached.

                Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Your uncle says so too. Except the someday. What’s that supposed to be?”

                “If I made you a werewolf now, I’m worried you’d topple me from my position as alpha.”

                Stiles almost laughed. It was more than Derek had expected at this point.

                “I’m the alpha.” Derek frowned, but he pushed his lips a little too far out doing it.

                Stiles smirked and rolled his eyes.

                “Not you. Me. Alpha.” He beat a fist once against his chest.

                Stiles laughed. “I give up. You win, alpha, you win.”

                “Good because you never answered my question.” His chest clenched at asking it again. He could have let it lie, but he wanted to know.

                Stiles was quiet for a long time. Every second ripped through Derek, leaving him raw. Then, finally, in a quiet voice, trembling with fear, Stiles said, “Because I love you too.”

                Derek pulled Stiles in for a kiss and then held him tightly with his face pressed against Stiles’ neck. “I love you,” he said even though it tried to lodge in his throat. “Please don’t burn my pack alive.” He couldn’t decide if he meant it as a joke or not. Stiles didn’t laugh.

 

**~.x.~**

His father sighed and pressed Stiles into a chair. Ms. Morrell watched them with a serious expression on her face and her hands clasped on her desk. Stiles sat, but he kept shifting in the seat and tapping off-rhythm beats against the chair arm with his fingers.

                “Sorry to pull your father in like this,” Ms. Morrell began, “But you’ve been avoiding me.”

                Stiles shrugged. His father scrubbed a hand over his face. He looked tired.

                “I know your situation is different from most of the students I see.”

                Stiles laughed. “Are you saying you don’t usually quote Churchill at them?”

                “No.” Stiles laughter cut off then. Ms. Morrell turned to Stiles’ dad then. “I think it would be better if I spoke to him alone. Thank you for bringing him to see me. I’ll do everything I can for Stiles.”

                His father nodded and stood. He clasped Stiles’ shoulder with one hand for a moment, squeezing firmly, before stepping out the door.

                “He won’t be able to listen in.” She smiled. “That door is... special.”

                “You mean magic. Why do people always try to avoid saying things straight in this town? It doesn’t make you mysterious.”

                Ms. Morrell nodded. “It’s magic.” She stood and walked around her desk to take the chair Stiles father had vacated. “I’m not. Not like you were. I can learn properties of things that are innately magic on their own and use them, but I’m not any sort of spellcaster.”

                Stiles shrugged and scratched the chair arm.

                “Your father has told me what happened, so you don’t have to hide events or people from me.” She paused. “But he can’t tell me what’s going on in your head.”

                “I didn’t come because I didn’t want to talk.”

                Ms Morrell caught his hand. His nail had finally begun to bite through the wood. “There are enough fours in this school. I don’t need one in my office too.”

                Stiles flinched back from her. He’d been carving unconsciously.

                “We don’t have to start there. I hear you’re dating a werewolf.”

                “Do we have to start anywhere?” Stiles had already spent so long hiding everything that he couldn’t imagine letting it all out now. He knew once he started, Ms. Morrell wouldn’t let him stop, assuming he could. There was so much buildup at this point, it might all rush out the first chance he gave it.  

                She watched him but gave no answer.

                Stiles rolled his eyes. “What could we even have to say about Derek?”

                “A lot. You’ve both been hurt and lost people, so it can’t be easy.”

                “Is it supposed to be easy?”

                “No, but that doesn’t mean no one can help you.” She leaned toward Stiles against the arm of her chair. “There were a few things your father didn’t say, especially about Pentanthera. I don’t think he could. But I picked up on them anyway.”

                Stiles scratched at his arm instead of the chair. “I don’t know how.”

                “You do. There’s not a wrong way to say it.” That wasn’t what he meant. He knew the words. He just didn’t know how to share them. “It doesn’t have to be about her. Or him. Anything you want.” Stiles thought she knew at least how hard it would be to stop.

                Stiles clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. He knew he couldn’t wait her out. He was a talker. Usually he could just find something else to talk about, but his mind had been stuck ever since he killed John. Sometimes, usually when he was with Derek, he slipped out into something like normal, but it never lasted.

                “Dying reminds me of a panic attack,” he said.

                Ms. Morrell reached forward to take his hand. She squeezed it, and Stiles knew the gesture should have been reassuring. But the dam was broken, and he came rushing out in wave after wave of misery like the trembling and pain that followed when Thera died.

 

**~.x.~**

Stiles hadn’t spent much time in Daemyn’s room. It looked different now. Daemyn had new sheets and glossy posters on the wall. There was a laptop on a desk and a new dark wood bookshelf. It looked like a teenager’s bedroom now, not like an unused guest room. Stiles hadn’t helped him do this. It must have been his father, Daemyn’s grandfather.

                “Sorry,” Stiles said because he’d promised to be there for Daemyn and then spent his time hiding away with Derek.

                “What for?” Daemyn turned from the book he was reading.

                Stiles eyes widened at the book. “I am a terrible parent. Oh my God. What have I done?”

                “What?” Daemyn shoved a bookmark into the thing of horror on his lap and set it aside. “Stiles, are you okay?”

                “Where did you get that book?”

                “Lydia lent it to me. She said it was funny.”

                “Funny?”

                “Yeah, when I’m done, I’m supposed to read a zillion page long essay on how anti-feminist the book is followed by a shorter one about why it’s bad writing. And the rest of the series.” Daemyn rolled his eyes.

                “I’m sorry I let her subject you to that.”

                “It’s not so bad.”

                Stiles narrowed his eyes.

                “I mean Lydia throwing books at me, not that _Twilight_ isn’t bad. Chill out.”

                “Oh, good. I almost found out what parental disappointment felt like.” Stiles pressed a hand to his chest and sighed in mock relief. He left out a comment on how much his dad’s life must suck.

                “The first ‘sorry’ didn’t sound like a joke.” Daemyn left his seat and moved to where Stiles stood just inside the door. He closed the door and pulled Stiles in.

                “It wasn’t,” Stiles admitted. “I said I’d be here for you, and I’ve just...” He frowned.

                “It’s okay. You’ve got a lot to deal with.” Stiles noticed Daemyn didn’t meet his eyes though.

                “Plenty of parents have a lot to deal with. That doesn’t mean they can just ignore their kids.”

                “Do you feel like you’re stuck with me?”

                Stiles was taken aback. Daemyn knew what Thera had done to conceive him, but Stiles had thought... he didn’t know what he thought. He still didn’t know how he felt about that. “No,” he said. “I knew I could turn you away. I had a choice. Jackson, of all people, made sure I knew.” He chuckled at that, but Daemyn didn’t look surprised.

                “He didn’t tell me that.”

                Stiles shrugged. He couldn’t see why Jackson would have told Daemyn about his visit to the hospital. “I didn’t choose you because I had to.” Even if he had to, Stiles wasn’t sure he could describe why he _had_ chosen Daemyn. Part of it was responsibility, not just because Daemyn was his child, but because he was a person who needed help. While he’d never admit it in case it got back to Daemyn, part of it was pity too. But there was more. Something Stiles couldn’t quite put his finger on. “You were pack back then too.”

                “I wasn’t. I almost killed you.”

                “Maybe, but you still felt like pack.”

                “Sometimes I think you’re a little psycho.”

                “Sometimes I am.” Stiles grinned. He felt its truth twist the edges of his smile though.

                “Yeah... I’d noticed.” Daemyn looked wary. “Why don’t your friends?”

                “They think I’m kidding.”

                “Pretty sure that just makes you scarier.”

                “Oh, good, that’ll lend to my parental authority.”

                Daemyn shook his head. “Don’t worry, Dad, I promise to keep my room clean and be home by ten.”

                “Ten? What kind of a monster is your grandfather? A proper curfew is six in the evening so we can eat dinner as a family with that guy who isn’t really your step-father but you kind of worry about his grumpy stares anyway.”

                “Definitely scarier.”

                They laughed together, and Stiles pulled Daemyn into a hug. “I’ll try harder,” he said.

                “You don’t—”

                “I’m still going to.” He held Daemyn tightly, and Daemyn’s arms wrapped around Stiles’ middle to hug him back. “I love you, kid,” he said. It wasn’t like with Derek. He didn’t need to get to know Daemyn because it wasn’t the type of love that cared who the person was. He loved Daemyn like he loved his father. He’d never said it before though because he hadn’t known. Daemyn was confusing and scary just by existing, but at least Stiles could say he loved him. Daemyn hugged Stiles tighter. Stiles rubbed a hand over his back to soothe him but didn’t mention that Daemyn was crying.

 

**~.x.~**

“Why does Lydia need _Twilight_ back? Why can’t we just chuck it in a fire?” Stiles asked as he turned into Lydia’s driveway and parked the Jeep.

                “No, Stiles. She wants it back.” Daemyn rolled his eyes and hopped out of the car.

                “Yeah, yeah.” Stiles joined him and trudged up to Lydia’s door. He kept sending glares at the book, hoping his exaggerated hatred of it might cure Daemyn of any enjoyment he found in its weird glittery vampire things.

                “She says there are three more,” Daemyn said with a smirk.

                “Don’t you dare.”

                “But I hear there’s a love triangle, and that Jacob guy hardly even exists in this book. I need to know more before I can choose sides.” Daemyn rang the doorbell.

                Lydia answered the door with a smile and accepted the book Daemyn handed over. “I’ll just get you _New Moon._ ” Stiles groaned at that. “Come on in.” She led them further into the house to a room with the entire pack crammed over a few small couches and a fair amount of floor space. Stiles turned to Lydia, but Daemyn was the one who spoke.

                “I wanted everyone to jump out from behind a couch and yell ‘surprise,’ but Derek frowned at me and refused hard enough that no one else would agree.”

                “Surprise!” Scott shouted, leaping over the back of a couch. “See, you thought no one would, so it surprised you.”  
                “I am so surprised right now, Scott, you have no idea.”

                Scott looked pleased. Stiles knew him well enough to know he was pleased by the smile he’d put on Stiles’ face, not because he thought he’d actually surprised anyone. Stiles chuckled.

                “It’s not my birthday,” he reminded everyone.

                “We wanted a party, Stiles. Don’t take this from us.” Erica smiled with only a little threat behind it.

                Stiles rolled his eyes but they landed on his dad at the end. “Dad!” He shouted. “What are you doing here?” His dad stood chatting with Scott’s mom and Deaton by a large potted plant or small potted tree; Stiles wasn’t sure the difference mattered.

                “They invited me.”

                Melissa laughed, but there was a confused edge to it. “Scott’s explanation consisted entirely of: we’re pack too.”

                “It’s not really a party with parents,” Stiles complained.

                “I need you to remember those words for me,” Daemyn said. He followed it with a soft but punctuated, _“Dad.”_

                “Ah, yes,” Stiles said, “The dreaded beginning of the teenage years.” His dad was giving him a weird look. He clearly needed a lesson in humor. “I’m going to find Derek and yell at him for not surprising me like Scott did.” He waved a hand and left the adults behind.

                “Yeah, I’ll just go read,” Daemyn said with a snicker that Stiles knew meant he was getting that second book from Lydia.

                Stiles let him go in favor of wandering to the back yard when he didn’t spot Derek in the house. There was a figure standing by the pool, and Stiles knew by the silhouette that it was Derek.

                “Come on, alpha,” he said. “Party with your pack.”

                Derek rolled his eyes. “I don’t party.”

                “No, you only brood, work out, stalk people, and make out with your boyfriend.” Stiles smirked at the end of that, sliding his arms around Derek’s waist and kissing him.

                “Especially that last one.” Derek pulled Stiles back in as he began to back away. They held each other tightly until the back door crashed open.

                “Come on, boys,” Lydia called. “We have cake.”

                Stiles laughed and dragged Derek inside.

                “I don’t want cake.” Derek frowned.

                “Our first date was cake,” Stiles reminded him.

                “I’m not hungry.”

                Stiles just tugged him along. They reached the kitchen to find most of the cake had already been served up.

                Lydia rolled her eyes. “I told Isaac to wait.”

                “I did wait. I won’t get seconds until Stiles has a slice.” Isaac entered the kitchen, grinning widely. He held a plate in front of him with crumbs and a used fork on it. When the others only watched him, he raised his eyebrows toward the cake and raised the plate as if testing how much it could hold.

                Lydia gave him a wicked smile and served up cake for Stiles. Derek she smiled widely at and left without dessert. As Lydia strutted from the kitchen, Stiles handed his cake over to Derek and served up another piece. When he noticed Isaac eyeing them sullenly, Stiles laughed. They moved away from the dessert, and Isaac’s smile returned.

                “This was a mistake,” Derek said, staring sadly at the plate Stiles had placed in front of him. He’d only taken one bite. “Did you see what just happened?”

                Stiles sat beside Derek and raised an eyebrow.

                “Cake nearly tore this pack apart. We have to stop eating desserts.” He shoved a bite of cake into his mouth and nodded to himself.

                “You’re right,” Stiles said. “Only gruel from now on.”

                “No, we can have curds and whey, but only for breakfast on Wednesdays.”

                “I always thought it was a lie.” Scott’s voice came from behind them. Stiles hated how easily everyone sneaked up on him, especially since he couldn’t do the same to them.

                “What?” Stiles asked around his cake.

                “When I heard Derek was funny.” He sat down across from them and leaned forward. “Say something else.”

                “Like what?” Derek did not look amused.

                “Something funny.”

                “Go away, Scott.”

                The rest of the pack began trickling in, taking what chairs they could and standing behind others when seats ran out. Stiles’ father sat beside him with Melissa McCall on his other side. Daemyn and Jackson stood together behind where Lydia sat, chatting freely. Stiles realized they were, somehow, friends, but it only made him more confused. Isaac sat beside Derek with a fresh helping of cake, and Boyd leaned against the wall with his own dessert. Erica, Cassie, and Allison stood together, talking and smiling even more obviously than Daemyn and Jackson. Allison kept motioning for Lydia to join them, but Lydia smiled, shrugged, and kept her seat while Allison rolled her eyes. Deaton and Ms Morrell, who must have arrived after Stiles because she hadn’t been around before, stood in the corner talking softly. Given the number of people in the room with super-hearing, Stiles doubted either of them had said anything more interesting than comments on the decor. Peter leaned against the doorway for long enough to catch Stiles’ eye and wink at him. After that he disappeared, but Stiles still felt his closeness through the pack sense.

                Derek and Scott continued bickering until Derek finally rolled his eyes and declared, “Scott, I am literally incapable of humor. I ripped out my funny bone with my teeth and beat myself over the head with it until I had a concussion bad enough to lose access to the memories of every joke I’d ever heard.” It was close enough to a joke that everyone had quieted down to see if he said something worth laughing at. He shut his mouth again without managing it.

Melissa gave him a look. “Head trauma doesn’t work that way.”

                Derek snorted.

                “Well?” Scott asked.

                Derek rolled his eyes. “Melissa used Logic. It’s super effective.”

                Stiles laughed loudly. Not everyone had gotten it—Lydia and Stiles’ dad looked most confused—but Stiles didn’t laugh alone. Derek smiled. It was small, but the light of it filled his eyes with an honesty even Stiles rarely saw from him. Stiles answered with a kiss and a grin. He held Derek’s hand under the table even though no one there would be fooled.

                After a moment, Derek leaned back in his chair, and something new reached Stiles through the pack bond. It felt like Christmas, the soft warmth that bubbled through a gathering of family and friends. They had passed through the fire alive, if not unhurt, and relief and celebration of life spread through the pack. The warmth sustained itself, feeding off the happiness it produced to remake itself as Derek cycled it through the pack. Stiles squeezed Derek’s hand to tell him he’d done well. Derek answered with another smile, larger than before. The last had been a smile for Stiles, but this was a smile for their pack. Another stream of warmth and comfort joined the current, this one undercut with hollowness and nostalgia that Stiles recognized as the memory of a lost pack. This was Derek’s happiness. Stiles pulled Derek over for a hug and relaxed with him into the sense of belonging and of family that filled their empty places to the brim.

 

**End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I worry I got a little too cheesy at the end there, and there are scenes I wish I’d had space to write without them feeling arbitrary (like my beta pointed out Derek and Cassie never speak, which is weird yet in character...). But overall, I’m very happy with how this turned out. I hope you’ve enjoyed it. 
> 
> I know I’ve done that thing where I stop a story with the promise of healing and getting better instead of actually writing out the healing. I think it works better for the story. Since my last long story had both the trauma and the healing, I can guarantee you they are not the same genre of story at all, and the story I wanted to write was this one. I only bring it up because I know healing is frequently ignored, and I want to acknowledge that I don’t think they’re magically better for having a surprise party. I just think it’s a way the pack found to show each other that they can still learn to be a real family even without a threat hanging over their heads.
> 
> I’m talking too much. Just, thank you.


End file.
